


Let It Burn

by LadyFangs



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama & Romance, F/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 53
Words: 121,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFangs/pseuds/LadyFangs
Summary: "The Shield-maiden's Tale" is the hottest show on television, and the action is often more intense behind the scenes than in front of it.Lagertha is a successful actress fresh off a box office hit and a brutal divorce. Ragnar's still a struggling actor with a pile of baggage. She came to Canada to escape. He came to work. Neither of them expected to find and fall, in love, and its the first time for the both of them.Yet, what goes up...must come down.When a dangerous lie is exposed and a bitter betrayal committed, can they survive the spotlight? Or will they fail?





	1. November

**November**

The beer is flowing and so is the chatter at the news Ragnar got the gig.

“Dude, you’re going to be on TV!” Bjorn gives him a playful shove on the shoulder. The guys are sitting at a bar in downtown L.A. celebrating. Ragnar gives a slight smile, sipping on his beer. Ten years in the game and finally, a big break—no more of the small roles, or extra parts, the three episode contracts and the anonymous credits.  All he’d ever really wanted was to earn enough money to buy a farm and work in the country.  But getting that money had been a lot harder than he’d ever anticipated.

Ten years of gigging—everything from bar tending to modeling (he shudders remembering it), small acting parts, working as a stunt man. It’s been hard. He’s just grateful for the shot.

“So, when do you start filming?” Rollo asks, popping off a beer cap with his car keys and putting his muddy boots on the table.

“Three months from now. The producers say the scripts are in the mail.”

“And where are you filming?” Floki asks, curious.

These are his best friends. Have been since moving to the city all those years ago. Ragnar remembers those days—four guys sharing a two-bedroom loft, working out a signal system to let the others know when female company is present. The endless drinking games, the parties, worries about rent, pregnancy scares, deaths and questioning whether they were even on the right track or if they’d just been wasting time on pipe dreams. Now Floki is a set designer, Rollo a professional stunt-man, and Bjorn just landed a job as a show-runner/producer. Yeah, it took a while, but they’re starting to think the time and the toil have been worth it.

“We’re going to Canada. It’s a period drama— Middle Ages.”

“Dope. And who do you get to be? Court jester?” They share a laugh at Bjorn’s joke.

“Nah. I get to play a farmer.” Ragnar grins and takes swig of beer. At that, they all chuckle. “So you’re being paid to do what you pretty much already do? Nice,” Rollo raises his mug and they all drink to that.

“Have you told Aslaug yet?” Floki and the rest of the guys look at him intently. He pours two shots of Jack and chases them down quick, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Nope. And I’m not going to.” It comes out bitter. Sarcastic.

Floki drops it, and the conversation quickly switches to sports—LeBron vs. Curry, Manchester vs. Southampton. He takes Southampton and puts Golden State over the Cavs by three—the addition of Kevin Durant seals it.

They drink and laugh and argue through the night. Good times, good friends.


	2. January Part 1

It takes forever to get through customs. Shit. He hates being late, especially for the first day on the job. But the customs delay really stalled him, and he thinks he’s last to arrive to the first read.  Everyone else is already seated at the table when he finally gets to the conference room.

“Ragnar! Great to see you!”

Ecbert. The name comes to him—director and show writer. Ragnar shakes Ecbert’s hand and greets him back.

“Apologies for being late. Customs,” he explains.

“No problem. Lagertha is also stuck.”

He blanks for a second. Ecbert catches it.

“Lagertha Lowe, from ‘Gilded Heart?’ She’s your cast-mate. The female lead. You’ll meet her soon enough, she’s great. Bloody gorgeous too,” Ecbert says with a wink. Ragnar just nods. He’s not here to make friends. Just to work. Always work.

The door opens again a few minutes later.

“Lagertha! Come here, I’ve got someone you need to meet!” Ragnar turns to look at the door and stops.

 She _is_ bloody gorgeous. Ecbert wasn’t lying. The woman walking toward him is striking, with blonde hair, blue eyes like the sky, and a swing in her step. Her lips are full, and she’s a natural kind of pretty, effortless. Flawless. He notices that she’s not wearing any makeup.

 Holy shit…

He shakes it off, reaching out to shake her hand. Hers meets his in a firm grip.

“Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“Lagertha Lowe. Nice to meet you.” It’s polite, not overly friendly. 

“Well,” Ecbert clasps his hands together looking around the room. “Everyone got your scripts?”

 They all nod.

“Good.”  Ecbert gives them all quick character overviews.

“Ragnar, you’re playing Valdemar, a farmer who’s destined for greatness. Valdemar is filled with a quiet strength. He’s calculating, sexy yet kind of scary, restrained, will kill in a heartbeat no questions asked. He’s passionately in love with his wife. She’s his weakness and his strength. They’re devoted to each other only. He trusts few others.

“Lagertha, you’re his wife, the shield-maiden Shreya. She’s loyal, fierce—a fighter. Not afraid to put Valdemar in his place. She’s his advisor, his lover-- an overall badass woman. This is really her story—behind every man, yada yada yada...and we really want Shreya to embody that deep core strength—show the audience that she’s Valdemar’s driving force. She’s his equal. That’s what we’re going for here.

“Meet Siggy Haraldson,” a short, slender brunette woman who had been sitting at the table stands up and waves to them. “Siggy is playing Ammala, wife of Lenninok and personal friend to Shreya. She’s also a shield-maiden. She’s cocky, but loyal. Not afraid to say what she thinks—almost to a fault. She and Lenninok have a love-hate relationship. They love each other on the battlefield and in the bedroom, but hate each other the rest of the time.”

“And finally, Athelstan Priestly.” Athelstan stands. His shoulder length black hair is pulled back in a ponytail, his outfit an all-black tailored suit. “Ragnar he’s playing your top commander, Lenninok. A loyal general, he fights for his people and for his friends. He’s a hot head with a bad temper.  The only woman he loves is Ammala and he can’t stand her half the time. Everyone know everyone, now?”

 They all greet each other with hellos and nods.

“Okay, let’s take the first read.”

And they do—going around, working on character interactions, making edits—additions, subtractions in dialogue, directions. They end a few hiurs later. Ecbert calls it quits.

“Good job on the first day. I’m sure you guys will get it. That was a strong read. Ragnar, Lagertha—you two are the leads. I need a little more from you. I know you’ve never worked together before, so that’s okay. But remember, your characters are in love. Passionate. They’re fighters.  I need that fight! Don’t be so stiff,” Ecbert tells them as their small group begins to disband.

Ragnar leans over to Lagertha. “If he didn’t want stiff he should have scheduled this later in the day.”

It makes her spit out her water, she laughs so hard.

“What’s so funny?”  Siggy and Athelstan come over. Lagertha’s still grinning. “This guy’s got jokes,” she says, angling her thumb toward Ragnar.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” he says with a straight face, shaking hands with Athelstan and Siggy.

“You did ‘Gilded Heart’ right?” Siggy is talking to Lagertha.

“Yeah. It was my first leading role.”

“You were great in it. I’m glad to be working with you. And this is Athelstan. We’ve done a few things together,” she says looping an arm into Athelstan’s.

“Yeah,” Ragnar nods in recognition. “Weren’t you both doing some independent films? I think I caught you guys in ‘Requiem’.”

“You into the dark themes?” Athelstan asks, impressed.

“I like complicated characters. Aren’t we all a little dark?” he says.

“Acting is the lens by which we explore our more primal selves, said no one and everyone,” Athelstan replies philosophically.

Ragnar likes that. They exchange phone numbers and email addresses and Athelstan and Siggy depart, leaving Ragnar and Lagertha alone.

“First lead?” she asks as they turn to examine their independent mountains of luggage piled in a corner.

“Yeah. That obvious?”

“Yes. But it’s not a bad thing. This is only my second. I’m still trying to get used to it.”

They shuffle around with their bags a bit. Ragnar reaches for his phone and taps the Uber app. There’s no way he’s hauling all this stuff to the hotel—even if it’s just a few blocks away.

“Want a ride?”

“Yes, please. Thanks,” she says, eyeing her own mountain of bags. “That’s the sucky thing about customs. They keep you for hours, make you late, and then you have to cart your life with you.”

He chuckles at that, selecting two passengers for an Uber X.

“Same here. Do you want to go for a drink?” They’re going to be working together for the next several months, they might as well get started now.

“Now?”

“There’s a bar in the hotel lobby,” he explains. “I’m assuming you’re staying at the Ritz too, right?”

She nods.  All the cast is staying in the same hotel for the time being.  The app gives them a five minute warning as they load their bags into an elevator and take them down to the lobby.  When the car pulls up the driver loads up the trunk and the back seat, and they’re at the hotel in 20 minutes. A bellhop comes out with a cart and loads up their bags, whisking them off to their rooms, and Ragnar tips him for the both of them.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Lagertha says.

“It’s not a problem.”

“I get it. Just not used to someone else picking up my tabs. I can be back down in 30. Does that work?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there. What do you want to drink?”

What she says next brings a half-smile to his face.

“Jack.” She says. “Double-shot.”

.

.

Thirty minutes later finds her at the bar with her co-worker, a double-shot of Jack in front of her.

“First one is on me,” he explains once she’s seated and comfortable.

“Thanks,” she says, eyeing it. “I really needed that. I missed my first flight out of New York. It’s been a long day.”

“No problem. So…how should we begin?”

She thinks on it a minute.

“So you’re into morning drinking.” He’s trying to figure out the reference.

“What?” Ragnar looks at his watch. 11:43 a.m. Lagertha’s leaning on the counter with a smug, closed-lipped smile. He leans back in his seat grinning.  “You got me. I didn’t realize the time. Shit, it’s been a long morning.” And it has. His flight left Los Angeles at 11:30 the night before. They’re filming outside of Toronto.

“Well, I’ll violate my no alcohol before noon rule just for you,” she tosses back her double shots. He raises an eyebrow at her.

“What?” She mirrors his expression.

“Nothing. I thought for sure you’d choke.”  She laughs again. “Ragnar Lothbrok, you’re a mess.”

 He grins sheepishly. “Sorry. It’s a nervous habit.  I’m not very good during first meetings, awkward conversations, most conversations, that sort of thing.”

“Ok. So let’s get through this awkward-as-hell first meeting. You already know my name. I’m from New York—upstate, not the city, I dropped out of college to pursue acting and…I’m a black belt.”

“No shit,” Ragnar is impressed.

“Yeah. Oh, and I hate the color pink.”

“I’ll remember that,” he says.

“Now, tell me something about you,” Lagertha rests her arms on the bar and leans in expectantly.

He looks up at the ceiling for a minute before looking back and her and speaking.

“I’m from Iowa, I like to farm. Never went to college, and I box.”

She gives him a closer appraisal. A sparring partner. That could be fun. It’s been a while since she had a really good person to practice with and if Ragnar can box, then he’d be a good workout buddy. Most of the time, Lagertha’s been left by herself on workout days.

“Maybe we should go a few rounds in the ring, then. See who comes out on top. The boxer, or the black belt?”

He’s nodding as she says it and she smiles just a tiny bit when he answers. 

“You got it.”

A toast, and two more shots of Jack before Lagertha insists on splitting the bill. “It’s a habit. I don’t like guys paying for me.”

“Can I at least walk you back to you room?”

“Sure.”

And he does. It’s a quick walk. Through the lobby to the elevator, 8th floor and down the hall to the left.

“I’ll see what I find, and let you know,” she tells him closing the door gently.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

.

.

She’s a black belt. She hates pink. She’s fucking flawless. Ragnar reaches for his personal bottle of Jack as he puts his bare feet up on the desk in his room, reclining in the swivel chair. She’s…interesting. Not quite what he expected. He’s not really drawn to actresses, but it’s not like he’s got any set rules about it. Lagertha’s got a positive vibe, and since she laughed at his joke, he’s pretty glad to see she gets his ribald sense of humor. Another woman probably would have slapped him for it. But she hadn’t, and it makes him relax a bit more about this gig.  She seems like a real person. And she likes Jack. That’s a bonus.

Lagertha is taking down her hair, undoing the small braids one at a time.

Ragnar’s kind of quiet. Not in a shy way, but in a more observational way. She doesn’t know why that should surprise her, but it does. He’s not exactly what she expected. Tall, but not overly so with the build of a quarterback. The beard works well too. He’s a quiet confident, not cocky. Swagger, but not arrogant.  She thinks Ragnar knows himself, unlike most other men in their industry. Her teachers used to say the art of acting was in the ability to disguise, and that’s what they all do. But she gets the feeling that with Ragnar, what you see is what you get.

 He seems real enough.

She laughs out loud, shaking her head and replaying some of his bawdier jokes. If they’re going to be filming for the next several months, at least it’ll be fun with him around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh...this is rough. I just realized I don't actually have formal "Chapters" in this story, so I am creating them as I go. There's going to be length and word count inconsistency. Some will be long, others super short. Apologies in advance for it. I feel like Floki: "Oh what have I done?"


	3. January Part 2

 The drinks proved to be a good ice breaker.

The second reading the next day goes a lot better. Fewer edits this time.

“Yes, I’m starting to feel it!” Ecbert tells them after they finish off a scene where their characters are reunited after a long time apart.

Lagertha smiles and Ragnar relaxes.

“This is good stuff, you two. Keep it up, whatever you’re doing.”

.

.

The sound of a ringing phone interrupts the silence of the hotel gym, startling him to the point he almost drops the barbell on himself. Quickly he finishes the last three reps, and picks up on the final ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I just want to let you know I found a gym with a ring. It’s about three blocks from here.”

It’s Lagertha. They’ve been busy these past few days. It takes him a minute to figure out what she’s talking about.

Oh yeah. Right.

“Sounds good. When are they open?”

“From 8-11, Tuesday through Saturday.”

There’s no reading scheduled tomorrow, and it’s a Saturday.

“How about tomorrow at 5?”

“You’re on. Meet you there, or here and we go over together?”

“Over together is good. I don’t know where I am going.”

“Me either. We can get lost together. See you tomorrow around 4:30 in the lobby.” She hangs up before he can respond and he takes a minute to stare at the phone.

Saturday passes way too slowly, and Ragnar lays in bed periodically checking the time in his phone. Alan Strait’s “All My Exes” plays in the background. He loves this song. Though for Ragnar, all his exes, including one in particular, live in L.A. and he’s damned glad to be elsewhere right now.

 3:45 p.m.

Finally.

By the time he gets to the lobby Lagertha is already there, dressed in a fitted tank top and black compression pants, her hair pulled back from her face. He’s wearing a plain gray t-shirt and darker gray sweats. They jog over to the gym together as a warm-up and when they enter, she drops to the mat, spreading out her legs and slipping into deep stretches. He finds a bag and begins making use of it.

When they’re good and ready, they tape up, and put on gloves and helmets.

The referee gets them started, and Lagertha comes out quick—swinging first.  She catches Ragnar off guard and he barely avoids a right hook. She’s got a long reach, and he can tell immediately those hands are dangerous. He bounces back on his feet as she rolls her shoulders. And when he comes off the ropes again he manages to land two soft body shots, but she catches him with a roundhouse kick to the side of the head that drops him to the mat and momentarily makes him see stars.  

Lagertha pounces, trying to pin him down.

They wrestle, arms and legs tangled, each battling for dominance. Ragnar forces his way out of her grip catching her into an arm bar, but Lagertha doesn’t tap out—instead, she goes slack and when he thinks she’s giving in he relaxes his guard; it’s a mistake.

She uses it as an opportunity to twist around, and before he can figure out how she escaped, she flips Ragnar on his back and land on top of him. Lagertha’s got one arm across his throat and is smiling/gloating down at him, forcing him to tap out or risk asphyxiation.

He taps.

Dusted.

“I win,” she says getting to her feet and throwing a smirk across her shoulder as she walks away from him and back to her corner. But now she has his full attention. He’d thought she was just playing. And even though she said she was a black belt…he didn’t quite believe it. The first round he was being gentle, working off the assumption they were just playing. But after being put on his ass…

“Round Two?” He asks, now aware of her fighting style and mentally making adjustments.

“Sure.”

They take a quick water break, and he takes off his shirt, throwing it off to the side. She takes off her tank top, leaving only the sports bra. They each have greater freedom of movement as they enter the ring and the referee restarts them.

This time Ragnar drops to the mat, kicking her legs out from under her. Lagertha goes down hard and quickly rolls away, avoiding his attempt to catch her. They rise fast to their feet and she immediately moves to a defensive position as he targets her sides. But as Ragnar backs up, Lagertha sees opportunity and takes a swift jab at his middle, landing a hard gut punch that sends him stumbling backward. Before he can regroup, she’s on him again, delivering several quick, hard body shots. He blocks as best he can and manages to get her off him by aiming for her head—after all, that’s what the helmets are for.

The blow makes her ears ring and it forces her backward stumbling. It takes a minute for Lagertha to recover.

They separate and retreat, slowly circling each other, sizing each other up.

She had just been playing with him…but that head shot fucking _hurt_. Lagertha squints at Ragnar as they pace. She was trying to be nice, cut him a break…but if he wants to go there…then she will too. Fuck him.

Ragnar has learned to watch out for her legs and she’s learned to watch out for his hands. They’re searching for chance and opportunity, and by now, both are hot and breathing heavily. Determination and stubbornness have set in. She’s glaring at him, and he’s staring her down. Only one will remain standing.

They get the go from the ref, and re-start.

Lagertha sees a place on his side left exposed and goes for it, but Ragnar manages to block her before she can land another body hit. He grabs her arm, forcing her to the mat and she curses at him. He smiles wide now, but she isn’t willing to give up, and those damned legs of hers somehow manage to lash out. She wraps a foot around his ankle, pulling him down, and just like before, they’re scrambling all over each other. It’s intense. Every time he hooks her she finds a way to escape his grip, until he manages to finally pin her down, his body heavy on her back, one of her arms pinned behind her.

“I win,” he rasps in her ear, pulling her arm a little tighter until she taps out. He moves off her smirking a bit as she gets to her feet and rolls shoulders. Her hands come to rest on her hips as she tries to catch her breath.  

 “Yeah. Yeah. I’m going to get you back for that,” she says breathing hard. But her eyes are smiling at him. Ragnar walks over and hands her a towel.

“Thanks. That felt good actually. It’s been a while. I thought you were just joking when you said you could box. Mixed martial arts?” She asks.

He shrugs. “Yeah. Something I picked up along the way. It’s been a while though. Do you practice regularly?”

“Yes. Mostly by myself though.” Lagertha exits the ring and begins to unwrap her hands. Ragnar does the same.

“If you want, I can be your partner.” She laughs at the statement.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’ve never had anyone volunteer to let me kick their ass on a regular basis before.”

Ragnar laughs quietly.

“I wasn’t the one face down the second time,” he says.

“Well, I wasn’t the one about to be choked out the first time.” Lagertha retorts.

He raises his hands making a peace gesture.

“It’s a draw.”

They shake on it.  It’s been fun. And they’re both pretty sure they’ll be sore in the morning. The sun is setting and the sky is beginning to streak with reds and yellows and blues. The gym will be closing soon.

“Time to head back?” Ragnar asks. She nods and he grabs his shirt off the floor and puts it back on. She puts hers back on too.

It’s a cool night, but they’re both still kind of hot.

.

.

The script reading sessions continue daily. The weekends are for free time, and Saturday’s are reserved for sparring. Sometimes they go until they can’t anymore. Lagertha is slippery, hard to pin down.  Ragnar is tricky, hard to knock down.  They’ve resulted to deception and dirty blows to try and trap each other. So far, it’s Lagertha 4, Ragnar 2.

Afterwards, they’re always sore. Too much alike and too competitive. Each loss must be avenged. Best out of three. Best out of four. Sparring is something they both take seriously.

The sessions get rougher, and they’re starting to accumulate the bruises to prove it.


	4. February

**Year 1 February**

**Day 1 Filming**

_Shreya stands on the shores of the beach, looking out over the ocean. The waves are roiling. It is as if the gods themselves are stirring the deep.  Somewhere out there is her husband. No regular man could survive this storm. But Shreya has faith. So she prays. Prays that Valdemar will return. She has faith in the gods. And she also has faith in her husband._

_And when the storm breaks, and she sees his boat appear she gives the gods her thanks, and rushes to the docks to meet him. They greet each other with a touching of the foreheads, and the noses, and he wraps an arm around her. They are a private couple. Their passion is theirs alone and not for public display._

_But she does provide him a soft kiss, full of promises for the night to come._

Ragnar’s lips linger on hers for a second longer than they should have. She tastes sweet, like candy. Must be the lip gloss she’s wearing. When they pull apart he opens his eyes to find her staring into his.  

“Cut!” Ecbert interrupts them.

“Great you two. Great. Let’s wrap it tonight.”

They’re just acting. It’s just a scene. A take in the larger story of other people in another time. She smiles at him as they go back to their dressing rooms to change.

He waits for her and when she’s done, they walk back to the hotel together quietly.

“Not bad for the first day,” she says, wrapping her arms around herself as a gust of wind blows through. Ragnar hands her his jacket, and she puts it on. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. I’m still trying to work it all out,” he says.

“You did good. Trust me, Ecbert would have said something if you didn’t. He’s not one to mince words.” They enter the hotel and when they get to her door, she gives him back his jacket. He moves to go to his, but she calls him back.

“Ragnar?” He turns around as she steps out the door to come to him, planting a soft kiss on the side of his mouth.

“Good night.” She goes back into her room.

 The place where her lips were is tingling.

.

.

“You’re not going out like that.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s _right_ with it?”

He’s standing at her door looking down at her. She grabs his arm and pulls him in.

“Come here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smirks. She rolls her eyes.

“Stop it. For real, Ragnar…you cannot go to the interview like this.”

Lagertha pushes him to the mirror and stands next to him, looking at their reflections. She’s got on wide leg red silk pants and a bandeau top. Ragnar’s got on…clothes. A thin, faded gray t-shirt and light blue jeans with holes in them to be exact. And flip flops. His hair isn’t even combed.

“I don’t see what the issue is. I’m not naked…though if I was, I’m sure there’d be no complaints.” It comes with a wink and another grin. Lagertha’s unimpressed. She purses her lips.

“Yes, well, there may be a few. This hotel has children in it. Now, let’s go. You are _not_ wearing that.” She drags him out of her room and back down the hall to his. He slumps in a chair as she starts going through his stuff.

Ragnar’s amusement is evident as she discovers several empty liquor bottles. They get cast aside. “Where the hell are all your clothes?”

He points to the suitcases and duffle bags stacked in a corner.

“We’ve been here a month and you haven’t unpacked.”

“Eh. Everything in due time.”

Lagertha is unzipping bag after bag—sweat pants, undershirts…does the man even own anything without a hole in it? She unzips another compartment and jumps back as if a snake bit her. _Okayyy_ ….she files that one away for later.

Finally, she gets to the suitcase and opens it. Thank God.

“Here, put these on,” she throws him a pair of dark jeans. “And this,” a light blue top sails through the air.

He starts removing his pants.

“Wait—give me back that shirt. I need to iron it, it’s wrinkled.” He hands it back wordlessly. Lagertha’s rooting around in his closet as he takes his pants off. Two matching Vans fly out at him and he has to duck to avoid getting hit. She turns back around as he’s pulling on the jeans. A few minutes later and he pulls on the freshly ironed dress shirt and tucks it in.

“No….stop.” Lagertha sighs, getting up from his bed and moving over to him. She starts rolling up his sleeves and undoing a few of the top buttons. Her hands go to his waist.

“I’m not that kind of guy,” he says with a slight smile. It earns him a gentle tap on the chest. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she untucks his shirt and runs her hands down his chest and across his shoulders before standing back, appraising.

“Much better. Now, we can go down.”

Ragnar starts to say something but closes his mouth when Lagertha shoots him a dirty glance. “ _Don’t._ even. think it.”

“Too late.” His eyes are impish. “You put it out there, first.”

The Ragnar that she knows is not the Ragnar that goes out in public. It’s a discovery that comes as they muddle their way through the interview. Lagertha talks the most, not because she wants to, but because Ragnar is giving one-word answers and five word sentences, and the poor interviewer is struggling.  She does not even think he knows how he’s coming off, or if he does, he doesn’t care.

 So after they’re finished and leaving the studio, she asks him about it.

“I don’t like doing interviews,” he says. “Bad experience once.”  She can tell he’s set on that. And there’s no changing his mind.  


	5. March Part 1

**March**

He comes to her room in the morning and they walk to set together. They walk back home at night. Conversations are kept to light, non-controversial subjects. He’s a football and beer kind of guy. She loves MMA, and fine wines. He’s a bit reckless, she’s a little more cautious but they both like to have fun.

Today though, something’s off. Ragnar isn’t his usual, deprecating self. He’s been really quiet since he came to her room, and he’s stayed that way throughout their walk to set. He’s brooding over something.  She puts a hand on his arm.

“What’s on your mind?” The touch breaks him out of his mood momentarily and he looks down at her hand, then offers up a half-ass smile.

“Bullshit.”

He drops it.

“Woman troubles.” An admission. They’ve never spoken nor referenced the other people in their lives. “Ah.” Lagertha nods, her stomach tightening a bit. She brushes it off and they keep walking.

“It’s not what you think. It’s an ex,” he says by way of explanation. She waves it off.

“You don’t have to explain. I get it.” Her own past isn’t quite there yet either.

 “Just wanted to clarify.” He casts a sidelong glance her way. Lagertha’s facing ahead and Ragnar gets to take in her side profile, the sculpted nose, the full lips, the long eyelashes.  

He thinks briefly about offering a few more details, but decides against it. No need to burden someone else with his problems.   _Problem_ , really. They get to the set and part ways--he to makeup and her to wardrobe. When they see each other again, they’re no longer Ragnar and Lagertha, but Shreya and Valdemar.

.

.

It’s nothing in particular that compels her to do it. But Ragnar’s been sequestered in his room this weekend and whatever has him brooding she wants to…not fix exactly, but break. So Lagertha makes a plan. She speaks with the hotel manager to find out if it’s even possible, and he nods his consent.

When she knocks on the door that night it opens into darkness.

“Hey.” He rubs his eyes and yawns, moving over to give her entrance. The smell catches his attention and he blinks a moment, focusing on the scent, his stomach rumbling.

“It sounds like you’re hungry,” she says moving to the desk lamp and turning it on so she can see him.  Ragnar’s shirtless, pajama bottoms only, his hair sticking up all over.

“Have you been asleep all day?”

“Something like that.”

“Should I go?”

Only now is he seeing the two, covered plates on the desk. He shakes his head. “Did you order something?” He asks, walking over and lifting one of the covers. A large, meaty steak awaits, coupled with steamed vegetables and a baked potato. It makes him nearly start drooling.

Damn. How did she know?

She takes the chair next to him, watching as he goes for it. Ragnar quickly begins to make the food disappear.

 “Do you like it?”

Ragnar groans, eyes closed. He looks so happy as he chews. “I love it. Where did you order from?”

Because the steak is a perfect medium, and the veggies aren’t soggy and the potato is topped with butter and sour cream and chives and cheese, and it’s the best meal he’s had in a while.

Lagertha’s lips part in a grin. “I cooked it.” Ragnar looks up, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth.

“ _You_ made _this_?” He points to the plate somewhat incredulous.

“What? I don’t look like a woman who can cook?” She’s smirking at him now.  He gives her an appraising eye and takes another bite, chewing slowly, thoughtfully.

There’s a feeling he can’t identify stirring in him. Ragnar finishes his plate and starts eyeing what’s left on Lagertha’s. From somewhere, she produces a large cupcake with a candle on it. It’s pink—strawberry frosted, chocolate.

“You bake, too?” He asks.

She laughs. “I burn when I bake. This one, I bought.”

It gets a kiss on the cheek.

 “Are you going to eat that?” He says. The cupcake was good, but he still wants the rest of her steak. 

She slides the plate over to him and he goes for it.

The weekend started like crap. But it’s ending pretty well.


	6. March Part 2

“It’s none of your business and I don’t want to talk about this with _you_ ,” Lagertha is pacing in her room her hand gripping her cell phone. She wants to throw something. Hit someone. Preferably the person on the other end of the line. She inhales slowly and exhales deeply, trying to stay calm.

“I thought I was ‘too much of a man’ for you. Don’t call me anymore.” She hangs up and throws the phone on the bed, trying not to scream in frustration.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

She looks up to see Ragnar standing in the doorway. He raises her room key by way of explanation. Oh yeah. She had given him that.

“You’re not interrupting. Ready to go?” She moves to get her bag.

“Are you?”

He’s studying her, his gaze so intense it makes her feel like she’s being inspected. She cracks a tight smile.

“Man problems.”

Ragnar swallows, feeling his throat tighten a bit. He backs up a little to let her out of the room as he follows her down the hall to the elevator, through the lobby, and into the night air. They’re supposed to be going to dinner with Athelstan and Siggy, but Lagertha’s usual spark is missing. And he doesn’t like it one bit.

Ragnar puts a hand on her arm, pausing them on the sidewalk. She looks at his hand, and then at him.

“I’m good, really. It’s just an ex. A _permanent_ one at that.” Ragnar nods in understanding. “I get it.” It’s a small gesture, but it has the effect of shaking her out of the doldrums by the time they reach the restaurant. And after the first drink she’s smiling again, and Ragnar’s cracking jokes and playing pranks on the poor waitress. Siggy and Athelstan are laughing at his antics, and they’re all having a great time.

When they all get back to the hotel go their separate ways, Ragnar walks Lagertha to her door.

“Sorry about earlier,” she says.

“You don’t have to apologize for that. We’ve all got issues.” She smiles and in that moment he’s got a sudden urge to kiss her. So he pulls her close and he does.

She just looks at him.

“Good night, Ragnar.” It comes out soft. Like her lips.


	7. April Part 1

**April**

The network executives are thrilled with the first show, and Ecbert is throwing a cast party at his house. They’ve been working for three months and the pilot is done. The pilot is what they need to sell the show, get advertisers and secure their jobs.

Ragnar stops by Lagertha’s room to pick her up. And when she opens the door, he holds his breath a moment before letting it out. She’s covered, but she’s not. The skirt goes below her knees but it’s tight, accentuating all the curves, the muscles. Her top is black and crosses her breasts, but other parts are still exposed. It’s both daring and demure—teasing yet conservative.

“How do I look?” She asks him nervously.

“Beautiful,” he tells her, and he means it. She visibly relaxes, giving him an appraising eye. Her hands come to smooth the lines of his shirt, rolling his sleeves up to mid forearm.

“What?” He says, mindful of where her hands are.

“I’m fixing you,” she says with a smile.

“I’ve got on clothes, isn’t that good enough?” He’s wearing dark brown loafers, a pair of dark denim jeans--no holes--and a white dress shirt. There’s a black t-shirt underneath. He’s left the top button undone but she undoes another.  She runs her hands across his chest and smooths him over once more.

“There,” she says standing back. “You look more like you.”

“I had a nice wardrobe assistant,” he grins down at her as she loops her arm in his and they take the elevator down to the lobby.

As they leave the hotel, Ragnar can both see and feel people staring at them. Likely looking at her.

 “I think they’re fucking,” Siggy says as she and Athelstan sit in the lobby waiting for their car. Ragnar and Lagertha have just walked past. It’s fairly obvious, at least to her, that there’s something going on there.

Athelstan shakes his head. “No. Not yet. But that dress…I bet it goes down tonight. He’s holding her too close.” Siggy ponders it. “They do look good together, though. That ‘chemistry’ thing Ecbert’s always talking about. I have to give it to him for his casting. It’s always on point.” They rise as Athelstan’s phone beeps. Their car is here.

Ecbert’s house is heard before it is seen. And by the time the car pulls up to the estate, the pulsating bass is almost deafening.

Ragnar gets out first, opening the door for Lagertha. There are photographers outside the gates, but just a few. The show is already being heavily marketed by the network. Still neither of them is used to having their pictures taken at a cast party and Ragnar moves to stand next to his friend, protectively wrapping his arm around her waist. They smile briefly for the cameras and move inside where Ecbert rushes to greet them.

“Lagertha! Ragnar!” He gives her a kiss on each cheek and pumps Ragnar’s hand enthusiastically.  “Come, drink. Eat! And if you’re not hungry for food, I’ve got plenty of other… _things_.” He gives them a knowing smile and points to the porch where a purplish gray fog is rising.  The director moves off and they watch as he goes up to a guy and the two begin making out.

“Hollywood,” Lagertha says, lacing her fingers through his.

He nods. Hollywood.

It’s quickly apparent there are certain places for certain things, and that the central lobby of Ecbert’s house is the safest. The rest…not so much. The party isn’t Lagertha’s type of scene. Ragnar’s tempted to go to the porch to check out what Ecbert’s offering, but he’s also noticed Lagertha’s not quite feeling the party so he decides against it.  They end up staying just long enough to say they were there, and leave just late enough to avoid being rude.

“Do you want to come in?” She asks when they arrive back to her hotel room.

He nods and follows her inside, kicking off shoes in the entry way. Lagertha turns the TV on and they settle on the couch.  She curls up beside him, lacing her fingers through his as he wraps his arm around her shoulders. The TV watches them as they fall asleep together.


	8. April Part 2

It started as a dare.

Neither is clear on exactly whose idea it was. They were both drunk at the time and talking shit to each other. But it’s too late to turn back now.

“I hate you!” She yells at him over the roar of the plane engine.

“What?” He acts like he can’t hear.

They’re both strapped to other people.

“Are you ready?” The instructor calls from the cockpit.

“Fuck NO!” Ragnar yells back.

“On the mark, and one…”

“Ragnar!”

“Two…”

“What the hell, Lags?!”

“Three!”

The hatch opens, and they’re sucked out into wide, open…air.

She can hear Ragnar screaming curses through the headsets they wear. But after the initial burst of panic, Lagertha feels…free. Like she’s flying. Well, falling really because they’ve just been dropped from 10,000 feet and are now skydiving over Canada.

“Oh my God this is so much fun!!! Ragnar, can you see it? It’s beautiful!” Land spreads before her, trees and hills and mountains, rivers…it all looks so different this far up, like a view outside a snow globe. She calls to Ragnar, but his line has gone silent.

The instructor she’s attached to is cracking up.

“I don’t think he can answer you right now,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, he’s fine. We had to cut his mic.”

When they touch earth again it’s the biggest rush she’s ever felt. And as soon as she’s unhooked Lagertha runs over to Ragnar, whose on his hands and knees on the ground. She approaches right after he takes off his helmet and promptly throws up.

Lagertha slows to a walk and comes up to him, smirking. “You pussy.”

Ragnar glares at her before starting to throw up again.

After a while, she feels sorry for him as he struggles to his feet. She drapes her arm around his shoulders allowing him to lean on her as they walk to the waiting van.

“I _wasn’t_ scared,” he insists later that night when they’re having dinner in the hotel. But his usual ravenous appetite is gone, and he’s picking at his food.

“Oh really? Then what were you?” Lagertha teases, taking a hearty bite of her chicken and chewing it exaggeratedly.

“I was just hungover from last night.”

“A hangover…right…so that’s what _fear_ looks like nowadays.”

Ragnar throws his napkin at her. She ducks it and laughs.

.

.

They walk in silence the next morning, each lost in separate thoughts, wondering what they’re doing, where this is going—a little afraid but unwilling to stop it. He has his reasons. She has hers. Sometimes, in quiet moments, she’ll look at him wondering why he looks like he’s carrying the world on his shoulders. And sometimes when he looks at her he wonders why, behind her laugh, there’s an echo of sadness there. He hasn’t made a move on her—aside from the kiss--and she hasn’t made one on him. But their private thoughts are far different from what they reveal to each other. 

Lagertha likes him. Ragnar’s charming. A bit of a slob, but it’s endearing. He wears it like armor. And he is a very sexy man. She would be lying if she said she has not noticed this throughout their sparring sessions. It’s a very adult kind of sexy, natural, not forced. It’s in the way he walks, it’s in his eyes, the way he carries himself. Ragnar likes to play the joker but there’s a deep, introspective side of him that manifests itself at the most unexpected times, like the night they began debating the meaning of “Rosebud” in Citizen Kane. They can talk for hours on all manner of things and the conversation comes quickly and flows between them like water. It’s never awkward and unlike some other men, he’s not afraid of her, nor intimidated by her. And he can take getting beaten in the ring with humility. Not many guys can. Plus, he makes her laugh. A lot.

Ragnar likes her. Lagertha’s a bit of a hard ass, but she’s also kind, a lady, and a very sexy one at that. He noticed that from the start, and their weekly sparring sessions have only reinforced it. She’s smart and witty, fiery when she wants to be. But most importantly, she has no ego, unlike other actresses and actors he’s met. And it’s refreshing. She’s refreshingly real and he likes it.  They’ve had meaningful conversations and it’s so easy. He hasn’t been at a loss for words yet. Plus, he kind of likes it when she kicks his ass. She’s definitely got him beat when it comes to fighting, and she laughs at his jokes.

But there are still layers. They’re both just scratching the surface, and they know it. Sometimes they catch each other looking, and they can see their own sadness reflected in the other’s eyes. Neither is perfect. And maybe it’s why they’re content to stay just friends.  The place they’re in is safe.


	9. April Part 3

“Ragnar!” It’s Floki, calling in from L.A. There’s a three hour time difference and its 4 a.m. in the morning.

“Floki, wha---?” It’s too damn early. The ringing phone has woken him from what had been really, really good sleep.

“Sorry, dude. Just got the new SAG newsletter. Who’s the lady?”

“What are you talking about?” Now he’s more awake.

“You guys are in here—it’s talking about the show. There’s a photo of you and a woman, a hot one, I will say.”

Floki has always been too nosey for his own good.

“She’s a co-worker,” he says groggily, his voice gravelly from under-use.

“Uh huh. Ok. Well I was calling to let you know the guys and I are heading your way in the next few weeks. We got a few days to kill before any of us have to report somewhere, so we decided we might as well drop in on you if you’re cool with that. It’ll probably be sometime next month. ”

Ragnar is cool with it.

 “Oh and Floki?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember the time difference, ok?”

Floki giggles in the annoyingly high-pitched way only he can do.

“Morning to you too.”

.

.

Four episodes finished, six more to go. A new set of scripts. They’re four months into this, and making good time filming. The shooting schedule is picking up.

Ragnar’s sitting out by the pool, skimming through pages in some of the later scrips when he gets to a part that makes him pause.

_This last trip has taken a physical toll on his body, and placed an even worse strain on his mind. The gods are making him see things—terrible things. His wife, his love, in the arms of another man. It is the trick of Loki, and he knows this to be true. Shreya is loyal to him, as he has been to her all these long years. But the seeds of doubt have been planted. What if he has been gone too long? What if she has found another? Valdemar worries as his ship draws closer to shore. He worries his love will not be there when he returns…_

_But when he sees her, his heart rejoices, and he is not restrained. They depart for home, and when they reach the door he cannot contain himself. He must have her. Their clothing is shed and they do not make it to the bed before he is already inside her._

Sex.

A sex scene.

A sex scene with Lagertha. He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag, exhaling slowly and making clouds in the air.

Ragnar only smokes when he’s nervous.

.

.

“Lagertha!” Siggy catches her before she hits wardrobe.

“Hey Siggy, what’s up?”

“A bunch of us are going out tonight. Club 101 on the river. You guys coming?”

It sounds fun. It’s been a long time since she went out dancing.

“Sure! I’ll bring Ragnar.”

“Cool. See you guys later.”

Lagertha likes Siggy. She’s been in the industry a lot longer, and plays Shreya’s best friend on the show. In reality, the two women are becoming friends. They’ve been hanging out a lot more lately.

When Ragnar exits wardrobe, she tells him about the club.

“Do you want to go?” He asks.

“Yes. I want to dance.”

He nods. “Then we’ll go.”

He doesn’t catch it. She doesn’t either. But at some point they’ve stopped referring to each other individually. The collective “we” has taken over.

A few hours later and he’s at her door. When it opens he works to keep his mouth closed. She’s dressed but not. The dress is short, completely backless, and her legs look like they go on forever. For the first time he notices something new: a tattoo on her thigh that reminds him of a duck. It looks Norse, and it’s sexy as hell. He wonders what else he hasn’t seen.

“You look good,” she says, giving him a once over. He’s got on all black—jeans, a fitted t-shirt, black chuck taylor's.

“Thanks. Nice tattoo.”

“Does that mean my dress too short?”

“That depends. Is it for me?” It’s bold. He gives her a long look, and she smiles innocently, wisely refusing to respond.

Club 101 is pulsing when they arrive. It’s close to 11—right when things are getting good, and there’s already a large group of cast and crew assembled in the VIP section. Someone passes Ragnar a beer. Lagertha finds a glass of wine and spots Siggy down on the dance floor.

“I’m going down!” she yells to him above the music before darting off. A group of guys waving to him and he makes his way over.

Athelstan is beckoning to him. “Hey, glad to see you made it.”

Athelstan is good people. He’s slightly younger, but relatively laid back, and Ragnar is reminded again why he likes this job. Most of the people here seem to be of the same mindset as him—it’s a _job_. They’re all working for a paycheck.

“Thanks. This place is…live.”

“Yeah. It’s a good spot. Good drinks, good music, and damn fine women,” Athelstan says raising his beer.  “To damned fine women!”

Ragnar and the rest drink to that and there is indeed plenty to see. The guys are talking and laughing and passing joints. He skips but keeps the blunt going. It’s not for any moral reason. He just knows liquor + weed = drunk spins, and the beer set the pace early on.

They sit at the tables talking and laughing, men trading stories and stray observations. A few of the guys begin to peel off for the hurt. In many ways, dating is a hunt. Guy for girl, Girl for guy, Guy for guy, girl for girl. Everyone is really searching for the same thing. A partner, if only for a night, or in some cases a little while longer.

 A movement on the floor draws Ragnar’s attention.

Lagertha. She’s winding her body to the beat and her movements remind Ragnar of a snake. Seductive and sexual. If Lagertha’s dress is short, Siggy’s is damn near non-existent. They look totally caught up in what they’re doing. The music starts to slow down, and Ragnar watches as men start approaching them trying to get close. Both women rebuff them and keep going.

“Hey Athelstan,” Ragnar says leaning over to get his attention. “I think the ladies could use some…interference.” Athelstan looks in the direction Ragnar is pointing. Two more guys come up to Lagertha and Siggy and get turned away.

“Good point,” he says. They get up and make their way down to the dance floor. Ragnar’s still sipping on his jack as he weaves his way through writhing bodies. Lagertha sees him approaching and smiles and when he gets close.

“I was wondering if you were ever coming down here,” she says backing up into to his body.  Her voice is low, husky and Ragnar lowers his head to hear her. 

“Eventually,” he says. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

The dance floor has gotten crowded and she’s hot, covered in sweat, but it feels so good. The several glasses of wine are likely adding to her mood, coupled with the smell of whisky on Ragnar’s breath as he leans over her shoulder to whisper in her ear.

“It looked like you needed some interference.”

Lagertha laughs as he puts a hand on her hip and pulls her against him. “They couldn’t handle it, even if they wanted to.”

The music switches to something slow.

_You can't keep your hands off me  
Touch me right there, rock my body…_

The lyrics drift across the dance floor as everyone gets close to someone and the mood shifts, almost hypnotic in its intensity.

 “Mmm…I love this song,” she breathes, beginning to move against Ragnar, her hips in motion against his thigh.

 But...that’s not his thigh.

The rest of the whisky disappears quick. Lagertha reaches behind her, pulling Ragnar’s head down to her neck.

It’s getting hot in here.

He’s been trying so hard to be good. To try and build something meaningful between them instead of settling for a night or two…a week or two…a month or two…from somewhere nearby, a woman moans faintly…it’s like the DJ is reading his mind…same mood, different tempo…different song… Lagertha’s body so close to his…hands on her hips…

_And when we're done...I don't wanna feel my...Legs_

_And when we're done...I just want to feel your hands.all. over me, baby..._

 

 Ragnar presses against her, letting her feel him, his hands trailing down her sides as she grinds against his body. He lowers his head to place his lips on the back of her neck.

It would be a lie to say he’s not been thinking about this. Never has she been so close, and the way she feels against his body is breaking down his willpower and capacity for self-control. Lagertha moans and he wraps his arms around her waist squeezing her tight to tamp down on his arousal. _Never_ has he wanted anything this badly. Any _one_ as badly as he wants her in this moment. But she keeps going, moving in a way that makes him start to imagine what it would feel like if she were riding him like this… A groan escapes…

“What are you _doing_ , Lags?” His breath is warm against her skin as his lips graze her ear, and go back down to start nibbling at her shoulder. She bites her lip to stifle another moan and when she speaks its breathless.

“What you _want_ me to do.”

He can smell the wine on her. And she can smell the whiskey on him as she turns around and buries her face in his shoulder, her arms around his neck.

 He could hold her this way forever.

“Mmm…” Ragnar smells so good…like Irish Spring Soap…He’s like a liquor, and she’s getting drunk…his body feels like a drug, and she’s getting high… Lagertha lifts her head a bit to get closer, with an intense urge to taste him. She licks his neck, tasting the soap, the salt, filling her nose with the scent of him…and when he kisses her, he tastes sweet, like whiskey. Her teeth tug on his ear.

He exhales slowly, the feel of her tongue on his skin making him twitch, her teeth making him shudder.

They’re both in a dangerous place.

Fuck. It’s starting again.

“Maybe...we should take this elsewhere,” he says quietly, still not willing to let her go. Lagertha shakes her head no.

“Just hold me. Kiss me.”

So he does. They kiss. 

Across the floor, Siggy is dancing with Athelstan in much the same way. He’s completely focused on her, anticipating the fulfillment of the promise she’s making to him at the moment. They’ve done this many times before. It’s how they roll, but it’s always fun.

“Athelstan, look.” She whispers to him.

“Hmmm?” He’s so not paying attention.

“Look…over there—open your eyes.” He does, seeing Ragnar and Lagertha wrapped around each other kissing, and not moving.  Athelstan leans down to  Siggy. “You might be right about them fucking.”

It’s 3 a.m. when they make it back to the hotel. Ragnar’s room is closer. 

When the door closes, he kisses her softly, tenderly. She deepens it. Her hands begin working at his shirt pulling it up over his head.  He can taste the wine in her mouth, and she can taste the liquor in his. She gets his pants unbuttoned, zipper down, shirt off as they back up into the couch. The motions grow increasingly hurried as she straddles him, beginning move her hips in a slow grind on his lap as his mouth starts traveling down her neck, her clavicle…anywhere skin is exposed. He wants to savor this, to enjoy it. But there’s a warning going off in his head. It’s his conscience calling.

Damn his conscience.

The motherfucker always rings at the most inconvenient time.

Ragnar knows they’re both drunk, and he also knows it’s never a good idea to do certain things while drunk. Like sex with a woman you’re hoping to keep. He could do this, right here, right now. He wants to do this…he’s ready to do this. But he also wants MORE than this…

“Lags,” he mumbles between kisses.

“Hmmm?” Her eyes are closed and she’s moaning against his mouth, her breasts against his chest. He can feel her getting wetter through her panties as he fingers her, and this really should be a no brainer. He wants her. Every piece of him is screaming that he wants her. He’s been wanting her for months now…He runs his hands down her ass, tempted to take off the underwear, but instead he puts them on her hips, stilling her movements.

“Stop.”

He wants to kick himself for it as soon as the word escapes. _Who_ is this man?  Because it’s not him. Asking her to stop? Not him. Lagertha pauses to look at Ragnar, seeming to come back down to reality in that moment.

Her head falls to his shoulder and her movements calm as she tries to catch her breath.

When she moves to get off him he stops her. He doesn’t want to lose the contact, it’s been a long time since he felt anywhere near this type of way.

“No.”

Lagertha looks at him puzzled. Puzzlement turns to surprise as Ragnar picks her up and carries her to the bed. She’s biting her lip, a fresh wave of lust pulsing between her legs, but she lets him dictate their actions as he lays her down and slides under the covers, pulling Lagertha close and wrapping the blankets around her too. She backs up into the curve of his body, feeling his erection against her. They lay like that, listening to the silence around them.  

“You would have regretted it,” he tells her softy, lips on her shoulder. The feel of his mouth on her skin makes the area tingle. She shivers.

He’s right. This has never been a rushed thing. But it’s been largely unspoken until now.

A warm, intimate silence fills the space, along with the hum of the air conditioning system.

“What do you know about me?” Lagertha mummers, eyes closed. Ragnar’s arm is draped across her waist, and the feel of his body against hers makes her feel secure. Safe. It’s been a long time since she was just held like this.

“I know you hate the color pink, you’re a black belt who can kick my ass. You’re from New York—upstate, not the city, and you dropped out of college to pursue acting,” he says, fingers splayed out against her stomach. “I know when you’re nervous because you bite your bottom lip. And when you’re deep in thought you scrunch your nose.” Ragnar’s mouth is still on her shoulder, speaking against her skin.

“I know you hate pork and you like to cook when you can. ‘Hotel California’ is your favorite song. You love to read and you’re favorite author is Bukowski. You’re afraid of failure, so you push yourself harder and…” He trails off unsure of whether to say the next thing.

“And what?” She has turned to lay on her back, looking up at him.

“You’ve been hurt before.”

It makes her stop breathing for a second, the fact he’s picked up on it. His sharp blue eyes stare into her lighter ones. Ragnar doesn’t miss a thing.  

“What was his name?” He asks.

“Kalf.” There’s a hitch in her voice and he can see the hurt in her eyes. It makes his heart clench. He didn’t mean to probe too deep.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? _You_ didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t realize you’ve been paying that much attention to me.”

It gets a laugh.

“I doubt that. I’m with you nearly every day.” When he says it, they both realize the implication at the same time.

“My turn.” Ragnar pulls her close as she shifts to face him fully. 

“What do _you_ know about _me_?”  They’re touching foreheads and noses, lips so close but not kissing.

 “You’re from Iowa and you like to farm. You dream of owning your own one day—something large, where you can have cows and sheep and goats. You love root vegetables and steaks—you LOVE steaks, really. You didn’t go to college and you box—badly, by the way. I know you hate doing interviews and when you’re anxious about something you self-medicate with whiskey and cigarettes.”

He chuckles and kisses her forehead as she continues.

“You like Otis Redding and George Strait, Sam Cooke. And you’re more comfortable outside the public eye than within it, by yourself or with a few people rather than a large group. You dig Orson Wells, and you’ve been trying for this acting thing a long time. Now you’ve finally gotten this gig you don’t want to lose it because you, like me, are afraid of failure, so you take yourself seriously but you try to play it off and…” her voice trails away and he’s curious about what she’s going to say next.

“And what?”

Lagertha bites her bottom lip.

She looks at his face and he can tell she’s trying to put her thoughts into words.

“I may be scarred,” she admits, “but you are, too.”

He opens his mouth to say something but closes it, surprised at her perceptiveness. She answers his silent question.

“The ‘women problems’, sleeping all day...sometimes you just disappear, and even when you don’t, you have this look…I can tell when you aren’t you. What was her name?”

 “…Aslaug.”  Ragnar pulls her close and kisses her forehead as she buries her face in his chest. She feels his heart beating hard, and by the force of his squeeze she knows she’s touched something still raw.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--” Ragnar silences her with a kiss on the mouth. “Sorry for what? _You_ didn’t do anything wrong.”

They get quiet and eventually Lagertha turns back around, spooning herself against him again. He wraps an arm around her and they both close their eyes.

It’s time to stop for the night.

Probably to stop for a while. They’re now scratching below the surface.

.


	10. May Part 1

**May**

They’re five months into this gig, and the show has finally premiered. The first reviews are in. And they all get great news as Ecbert reads the critics’ comments aloud to the cast in a group meeting.

_“Undeniable chemistry.”_

_“Ragnar and Lagertha are like sex on a stage.”_

_“The best show since the Sopranos.”_

“ _Athelstan and Siggy are fresh and new.”_

“People!! Do you realize what is happening here? We’ve got a winner!!!” Ecbert is so happy he can barely contain himself, running around the conference room gesturing wildly in the air. They’re all happy. The network has already cleared them for a second season which means they get to stay employed a little longer.

“That means find a bunk buddy and start searching for places. We’re going to be here for a while. Also, you’re getting a two week break for press tours. Let’s get this show some ratings!”

Moving.

Five months of hotel living and now they all have to leave.

Siggy approaches Lagertha about the possibility of rooming together, and she agrees. Ragnar asks Athelstan and he does too. The four of them are together for lunch when Lagertha says she and Siggy have found a place.

Ragnar and Athelstan haven’t done anything—and they all have to be out by the 30th. It’s already the 15th.

Men. Procrastinators to the end.

 It’s Siggy who has the idea.

“Why don’t we all move in together? A house or something like that?”

It’s a good idea. A great one in fact. They can all save a little more money. After all, they are actors. And that means not knowing where their next meal will come from.

It’s Lagertha who finds the house.

A large, multi-suite home in a quiet, residential neighborhood inside the city. Five bedrooms, two different master suites, with a pool and grilling area in the backyard.

They manage to move in right in time for the break.

“Where are you going? And what do you have lined up?”

Lagertha is in Ragnar’s room perched on his bed cross-legged as he throws some clothes into a backpack.

“L.A.  And I guess I’ll do what my agent tells me,” he says, stopping a minute to sit down next to her. He’s definitely not looking forward to doing the interviews, but he’ll do what he must in order to keep a job.

“You’ll be fine,” she leans over and gives him a friendly kiss on the cheek.

“Where are you going?” He asks.

“New York. I have a shoot for Elle and a couple of TV appearances,” she tells him. They go to the airport in the morning. She gives him a hug at his gate, then leaves for hers.

Seven hours later and he’s finally back at his empty condo.

Home. His phone rings.

“Torstein.”

“Glad to see you landed. You’ve got Esquire heading your way at 11 tomorrow morning.”

He groans. “Why my place?”

“To show them how real men live,” his agent laughs then turns serious. “Can you please look decent? Make a good impression?” Translation: Don’t fuck it up.

“Fine. How many of these do I have to do?”

“You’ve got three. But this one is the biggest. So _behave_.”

.

.

 

 

**“Shieldmaiden’s’ Star Lothbrok Knows How to Stay Low-Key”**

_The condo is Spartan._

_Ragnar Lothbrok describes it as “minimalist”, a fancy way of saying empty.  It looks like he moved in yesterday and hasn’t bought furniture. In truth, he’s lived here nearly two years._

_After more than a decade of scraping by in Los Angeles, the 30-year-old just landed his first major role--starring as Valdemar in “The Shieldmaiden’s Tale” opposite Lagertha Lowe, who made her film debut last year with ‘Gilded Heart’—a film that grossed more than $500 million worldwide._

_The condo is the most expensive thing he has, and he says he regrets buying it. “I’m never here, might as well get a trailer.”_

_I ask why so few possessions. He says “why not?”_

_Lothbrok’s ultimate goal is to save as much money as possible so he can buy a farm. He says his parents were farmers, and his grandparents too. It's what he loves. Does he love anyone or anything else? Like, a woman? A partner?_

_He laughs a bit ruefully at that one and rolls his eyes.  “I love women," he says. "Probably too much. They always end up hating me in the end.”_

_Has he ever brought someone special home to meet the family?_

_He shakes his head. “L.A. girls don’t like country boys.”_

_Maybe he’s looking in the wrong place. Lothbrok just made People’s list of the sexiest men alive, and he’s only just burst on the scene. With all the women in Los Angeles alone, it shouldn’t be that hard. What's he looking for?_

_He just shrugs and takes a swig of the beer he's been nursing for most of this interview._

_What about kids? Does he have them? Does he want them?_

_“Want.”_

_The conversation meanders. I ask a question. He gives a short answer. Lothbrok comes across a little reticent at some points. Like when I ask whether he’s single._

_“That’s personal.”_

_Or when I ask about his modeling career. The body that launched a thousand car accidents._

_“It paid the bills.”_

_He is plain-spoken yet quiet. Clearly more comfortable in front of a camera, than in an interview…even one in his own home. Does he ever get recognized?_

_“Nope.”_

_He’s not giving up much, if anything. The less he speaks, the more you want to know. He’s not being rude. Really, he’s engaging, making eye contact the whole time. But there’s a way about him that makes you think he’s said more than he really did. And even now, as I write this story and listen to the exchange, I’m realizing the questions are longer than the answers._

_There’s something about him that draws you in. Maybe it’s those eyes—the eyes that look like they’re inspecting you, digging, probing. Lothbrok’s stare is intense. Even if he’s not looking at you, whatever the focal point is, his eyes follow it, staying on it.  There’s something lurking back there, underneath his ambivalent exterior. Maybe that’s what the producers saw. Because what he’s not in real life is his character, Valdemar._

_In real life, he’s Ragnar. A man just on the cusp of being famous, and trying really hard not to be.  “I don’t do this for fame. It’s just a job to me.”_

_Clearly. Other actors would have been dressed up to the nines. But Lothbrok looks as if he just rolled out of bed. I get the impression he did. The cargo shorts and flip flops with a faded black t-shirt complete the look. His hair sticks up all over and he’s in desperate need of a shave. Lothbrok could pass for anyone U.S.A. But for how much longer?_

[www.esquire.com](http://www.esquire.com)

.

.

**Lowe Goes From 'Gilded' To Gutsy In New Series “The Shieldmaiden’s Tale”**

_All she does is win. Seriously. Look at ‘Gilded Heart’, a film with a dense premise which critics widely panned. Still, buoyed by a Lowe’s impeccable performance, it made half-a-billion dollars at the box office, earning the actress much acclaim._

_And now, she’s taking on the small screen, starring in a new period drama that, for all intents and purposes, focuses on the lives and loves of a man and a woman. How simple. Not really. Lowe sets out to bust down the familiar stereotypes and tropes that define women of the time, and women in general._

_Here, in “Shieldmaiden’s Tale” we meet a woman who is more than the equal of her husband. She’s the mastermind._

_Lowe’s “Shreya” is as loyal a wife as they come, a woman not afraid to defend her home and her husband while fully embracing her role as lover, partner, best friend and worst enemy. It’s fascinating to watch. Shreya's husband is "Valdemar" played by newcomer Ragnar Lothbrok. And the intensity and the chemistry between the two actors is a match made in TV heaven. They're already garnering Emmy buzz.  
_

_Where does she pull her inspiration?_

_“My experiences are what inform my acting,” she says. “I’ve known struggle, and I’ve known pain. I’m a complicated woman and I like playing complicated women.”_

_What hasn’t she known?_

_“Love. That’s the hardest part for me. Trying to figure out how to love my husband.”  
_

_Fascinating, because Lowe recently divorced her real-life husband of five years in September. She’s stepping out on her own now, and is at the peak of her game. Any potential suitors?  
_

_At that, she laughs. "No time for that. I'm happy just loving myself."_

_Some would say Lowe was gifted with a silver spoon. Her mother is a powerful entertainment attorney, her ex-husband, a millionaire. But that would be far from the truth._

_“My mom didn’t want me to act,” Lowe says. “So I started on my own.” The roles were small at first, commercials, made-for-tv movies. But she kept scrapping. And then ‘Gilded Heart’ came along._

_“I saw in the character something others didn’t,” she says. “So I meant to bring it out.” And bring it out she did, saving the film and the studio that backed it in the process. Now, she’s got another hit on her hands._

_“Failure is not, nor has it ever been an option for me,” she says with steely determination._

_And if early buzz about “Shieldmaiden’s Tale” is anything to go by… she can look forward to her own star growing ever brighter._

[www.elle.com](http://www.elle.com)

 

.

.

Ragnar knocks on Lagertha’s bedroom door.

“Can I come in?”

It opens for him, and he settles down into her bed, pulling her close and nuzzling her neck. It’s been the longest two weeks of his life. The first few days were fine, but the rest of it…

“Keep the door unlocked for me?” He asks.

“Only if you do the same.”

It’s a deal.

He comes to her room that same night, and they settle in her bed, eating popcorn and watching Tarantino movies. They fall asleep together.

The next night, she goes to his, and they end up watching the Discovery Channel—a wildlife documentary.

They might skip a night or two. But the skips become increasingly rare.

One night, Lagertha is sick with the flu. Ragnar still comes, bearing Gatorade and Doritos.

“You need to eat,” he tells her. She takes the Gatorade, and laughs at the chips. But after she eats the first one and discovers it doesn’t mess with her stomach, she’s grateful and he smirks.

“I’m not an idiot,” he says, pulling her up and walking her to the bathroom, turning on the shower, and leaving to give her some privacy. When she climbs back in bed, feeling better, he kisses her.

“You’re going to catch what I’ve got,” she protests, but he laughs. “I like your cooties.”

Sure enough, he gets sick the next week, and it’s a pitiful sight. Men are always more pitiful when they’re ill and Lagertha brings him soup and crackers as he shudders and shivers and sweats. After the third day, she pulls him out of bed and forces him into the shower while she strips the sheets and gets fresh ones. He comes out and gets under the covers and she touches his lips with her fingers, but doesn’t kiss him.

 “That’s not fair. I kissed you when you were sick.”

“Yeah, and I’m ending the cycle.” But she does lean down to rub her nose against his.


	11. June Part 1

**June**

On rare nights, he has the house to himself, and this is one of them. It’s been busy lately—between a hectic filming schedule and promotional events, they’ve all been running in circles. Tonight, he has managed to get out of a panel discussion on the show, leaving Lagertha, Athelstan and Siggy to do it themselves.

But it’s also been a while since he’s been alone. And now that he is, the things he’s been pushing away are quickly rising to the surface.

It’s dark in the house. The shades are drawn, no lights on inside. It’s the kind of darkness he often rests in when he can, when everything is still and quiet and nothing moves. Tonight, he’s the only thing that does, stepping quietly into the living room and going for the liquor cabinet, pulling out the bottle of Jack Daniels and pouring himself a glass, before settling on the couch.

The cell phone in his hand lights up as he debates.

Maybe she’ll pick up.

Maybe she won’t.

Maybe she’s changed the number again.

The last time it happened, he’d been just…wrecked.

That was six months ago—the day he’d tried to call and got a disconnect message. The day Lagertha had asked what was wrong.

But if there’s a chance…he has to take it.

So he gins up some liquid courage…and puts the phone on facetime to make the call.

One ring…

Two rings…

Three rings… no disconnect, but no answer. He’s about to hang up with the other end clicks on. And the babbles of a baby fill his ears.

Ragnar looks at the phone, seeing nothing at first…but as the babbling and laughter continue…he sees more.

“Ivar?”

There’s a happy little laugh, followed by high-pitched syllables.

 His son has picked up the phone.

“Hey, little guy,” Ragnar smiles. Even though he can’t see Ivar, he knows the boy can hear him. The screen shifts again, upside down this time, and now he can see ten perfect little toes.

“Can you raise it higher? Turn it around?”

Ivar turns the phone and sure enough, Ragnar finds himself looking at the small face of his son. All dark hair, and big blue eyes look at him through the phone. Ivar grins showing two teeth at the bottom.

“DADADADADADA…!”

He can’t help himself. He starts to cry.

“Yeah…daddy’s here…” It’s emotional. He’s trying to choke it back.

“Ivar! What are you doing?”

Another voice—one he knows well. The phone starts moving again.

“Hello? Who is this?” Demanding.

Aslaug.

“Me.”

He watches as his ex-wife’s face comes into view. Aslaug is gorgeous. There’s never been any denying it. But at the moment, she reminds him of a snake. Those large, wide-set green eyes narrow at him through the phone.

“How’d you get this number?” She demands.

“Never mind how I got it. I have it. Will you please let me see my son?”

She smirks. “You already know the answer to that. Leave it to the courts. You don’t want to settle and I won’t either.”

Ivar starts babbling again, and Aslaug turns facetime off, leaving audio only.

“Ddadadadaada!!”

A man’s voice flows in. “Hey Ivar! Come here, big boy!”

There’s shuffling and muffled voices. Ragnar stops a moment, looking at the phone, the urge to throw it against the wall momentarily overwhelming.

“Are you kidding me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know damn well…you let my son call another man ‘daddy?’”

This time, her laughter is meant to taunt him. And she does exactly that. “All you contributed was the sperm. You didn’t even _want_ him. Ivar is MY son. So bye.”

It’s quiet.

The phone beeps off, and he sets it down on the side table by the chair.

The rest of the jack in the cup disappears fast. And he pours another. And another…trying to drown out the burning feeling in his chest. He leans forward in the chair, resting his arms on his thighs, head lowered. This is the only thing that’s ever made him cry.

It’s late by the time Siggy, Athelstan and Lagertha walk through the door. Siggy and Athelstan go to Siggy’s room, and Lagertha heads to hers. But as she walks past the living room, she sees something—no, someone slumped in a chair.

She walks over. Ragnar’s passed out, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels next to him on the table.

Did he drink the whole thing? There was half a bottle left…

His head is back, mouth slightly open and snoring quietly and she weighs it—whether to wake him or let him sleep. She decides to wake him with a shake.

“Ragnar?”

He snorts and yawns. Bloodshot eyes meet hers.

“Hey. You’re back. What time is it?”

“Two.”

 She moves back as he gets up, and starts making his way to his room. There’s something wrong tonight, she can feel it. It’s in the empty bottle. In the way he looks right now, defeated almost…or maybe, maybe he’s just tired…

Ragnar drops into his bed, and Lagertha comes over, settling next to him.

“Do you want me to stay…or go?”

He doesn’t even look at her, just turns away. “Not tonight, Lags.”

Go, it is.

.

.

 It’s mid-day, lunch and she’s in her dressing room preparing to switch clothes for the next scene when there’s a knock.

“Come in.”

It’s Ragnar, still dressed as Valdemar.

“I just wanted you to know, last night…it wasn’t personal.”

Lagertha comes over, wrapping her arms around his waist. He kisses her forehead and squeezes her.

That night, she’s curled up under him in his bed, and he’s trying to pinch her with his toes. She’s trying to catch him on his side where she knows he’s ticklish. They’re both laughing.

Whatever last night was about, it’s long gone.


	12. June Part 2

Their mutual open door policy has benefits.

Like having a readily available snuggle buddy.

Most of the time it’s benign, like the nights they stay awake watching movies and eating pizza. He likes meat lovers, and she’s an omnivore. Some nights they’re just talking, and others, they’re so exhausted there is no talking, just sleep.

On the nights they do speak he’s usually joking, making her laugh. Sometimes, their conversations get heavily introspective, like the night they discuss religion. She discovers Ragnar is agnostic. She tells him she’s questioning.

They deconstruct the words. Work through the language. It’s a long conversation. She gets his explanation. He understands hers.

Still, he tells her his favorite book is Song of Solomon.

"I've never read it," she answers truthfully.

"My parents love it--they made all of us read it too," he says.

"Are they religious?"

He shakes his head. "No. But they've been married for three decades, so I figure they're doing something right."

"That's beautiful," Lagertha looks up into his face. "My mom raised me by herself. It was just the two of us."

"If you're anything like her, I think she did a great job," Ragnar tells her. There's earnestness there. Lagertha laughs. "I'm sure you'll regret saying that if you ever meet her."

.

.

Their mutual open door policy has benefits. And most of the time, it’s benign.

Until one night, it’s not.

They’re in his room lying next to one another when Ragnar’s hand starts wandering.  Lagertha is pressed against him in just the right way, and he’s flashing back to the club…making him ache for her. She stays still, enjoying the feel of his hand on her body. It travels…across her hips, between her legs, under her shirt to her stomach, her breasts. All he does is touch. She’s taken his pajama top. He’s got on the bottoms. Lagertha stirs, rolling over to face him, and he rolls onto his back, pulling her close to his side.

It’s her turn for wandering hands. Slender fingers trace the outline of muscle under skin and dance across old scars. They’re searching…

Ragnar’s eyes open when he feels Lagertha’s fingers on his stomach and he watches the red nails as they hover above the top of his pajama bottoms. He closes his eyes and makes it jump.

“Oh.” It comes out as a soft gasp. She’s surprised and he smiles, knowing he’s caught her attention.

“You can touch. It won’t bite.”

She looks at him and slowly pulls her hand away. He grabs it, and puts it on his cock.  Lagertha covers her face with her hair and he reaches over to brush it away, looking at her.

What they’re doing tonight is new.

“Can I?” She’s so quiet tonight and he loves the fact she’s asking him permission, like she actually needs to hear his consent aloud, especially after all the other things. In everything else, Lagertha takes charge. But right now though…

He nods silently, watching as she reaches in and pulls him out. It’s different and he’s curious how she’s going to respond to that. One slender finger runs slowly up the shaft caressing the skin, silkier, softer…ribbed, a slight curve. The finger goes to the opening and he knows exactly what she’s about to do…a large hand wraps around Lagertha’s wrist, stilling her.

Ragnar shakes his head. “No. Extremely sensitive,” he says by way of explanation, releasing her gently.

“Sorry, I didn’t know. I’ve never seen one like this before.” 

 “It’s a family thing,” he explains.

The touch has made him hard, but it’s not what has caught his attention. He rather likes her exploration of his body. She tries to wrap her hand around it but her fingers don’t touch and when she looks back at him face, her eyes are wide. Lagertha draws back slowly and readjusts herself, one long leg wrapping around Ragnar’s as she scoots in closer to place an arm across his chest, tucking her face into his side. He falls asleep quickly. She inhales his scent trying to comfort her nerves.

 _Maybe_ certain things are better left unknown. _Perhaps_ they’ll be better off if they stay friends. Stay in their lanes, where the boundaries are clearly marked and labeled. But even as Lagertha thinks this, she knows she doesn’t want to stop coming to his room, and she doesn’t want him to stop coming to hers.

So they keep sleeping together.

But the innocence is gone.

And it doesn't take long to figure out she’s opened up a shit ton of trouble.

Ragnar has nibbled at the cookie, and now he wants the whole thing.

She loves his kisses. And she loves the feel of his hands, rough and calloused, on her body. But she always stops him before he can take her clothes off, and she stops _them_ from going all the way. He always looks so hurt when she does it, but doesn’t say anything. He just pulls her closer and stands down.  

It’s porn and cold showers in the morning. And thank God for their weekly sparring matches at the gym because he doesn’t know if he could handle it any other way.

Those matches are getting heated.

They’re long past the point of playing nice.

Each is fully aware of what the other is capable of. There are no helmets—gloves and mouth guards only.  They go all out—giving everything. And each time they leave the ring they’re covered in bruises. Lagertha’s finding herself increasingly on her back. Ragnar doesn’t let her get away with anything. He’s rougher. More aggressive. But so is she.

The scores start to change. Ragnar 12, Lagertha 8.


	13. June Part 3

 “Ragnar!!!” Bjorn comes barreling into the house first, followed by Rollo then Floki. They’re loud, boisterous and they’re also his best friends. They give slaps on the back and Ragnar quickly jumps out the way when he sees Bjorn starting to wind up a towel.

“Ah! Cut that shit out,” he says laughing. Floki’s carrying a case of beer and breaks it open. They each grab a Guinness Stout and Ragnar shows them the way to the patio where Siggy, Athelstan and Lagertha are waiting. They all exchange greetings and settle in. Athelstan’s already got the kebobs on the grille. And the food is smelling good.

The guys walk outside just as Lagertha is removing her cover up to reveal a bright green bikini that Ragnar swears is made of just strings. It does make his eyes linger on her though, trying to figure out whether it’s God or gravity holding it all together.

It’s as close to naked as he’s ever seen her, and his eyes are drawn to the tattoo on her thigh again.

 _“Holy hell…”_  Rollo says walking up to Ragnar and interrupting his appraisal. They take seats under the patio awning in the shade.

“Thanks. Not mine though—it was Siggy and Lagertha’s idea for us to get a house. Made sense. Saves a lot of money.”  They toast.

“I was talking about your roommate,” Rollo says angling his beer at Lagertha who has dove into the pool and is swimming toward Siggy. So, what’s the deal with the ladies? Are ya’ll…” he wags his eyebrows.

“What? Nah, just friends.”

Rollo rolls his eyes and scoffs. “I don’t buy it. _You_ don’t have female friends. Which one is yours—Siggy or Lagertha or both?”

“Neither,” Ragnar shrugs. “Siggy and Athelstan are together. They go way back. Lagertha and I are just friends. That’s it.”

Bjorn drops down in the chair next to theirs.  “I smell bullshit.”

The three of them look across the patio to the pool, where Floki, Athelstan, Lagertha and Siggy are engaged in a heated game of water polo. They watch as Siggy jumps up from the water and slams the ball past Floki’s head and into the net.

They women whoop and go back to battle. It’s a 2-on-2 game.

“Lagertha may not know you. But _we_ do. I saw you staring at that woman like she was air and you were suffocating. And what’s holding up those strings? Gravity?”

Just like Rollo, Bjorn’s brain goes straight to the floor.

Ragnar takes another swig of beer.

“Just friends,” he says more forcefully this time.

Rollo looks at him incredulously. “Did she turn you down?”

Ragnar takes the rest of the can to the head.

“She turned you down! Holy shit that’s a first! Well, if she’s available you won’t be mad if I ask her out,” Rollo throws it out there, testing to see Ragnar’s reaction. Before he can respond, Siggy calls to them from the water.

 “Ragnar! Bjorn, Rollo—are ya’ll coming in?”

They get up, taking off their shirts and flip flops. Bjorn and Rollo hit the diving board, sending water flying as they splash down. Ragnar takes the stairs and slips under the water, launching off and staying submerged until he hits the deep end to keep himself from punching Rollo in the face.

He comes back up a few minutes later.

Lagertha swims up to him.

“Glad to see you finally decided to join us,” she says, putting a hand on his chest and placing a tiny kiss on the side of his mouth. He turns to catch her lips in a long, lingering kiss and she laughs before swimming off again. Call it a territorial pissing contest.

Someone has found a ball, and now they’re bouncing it around with various parts in a game of keep-away. Rollo passes him in the pool.

“Just friends my ass,” Rollo says smirking, only to get a spiked ball to the face a minute later.

.

.

They’re all sitting around the fire pit, stuffed from the food, drunk off the wine and beer, and embroiled in a debate over relationships. At issue: dating vs. courting. Rollo, Bjorn and Floki say it’s one and the same. But Ragnar is shaking his head.

“You date for sex. You court for marriage,” he argues. Lessons from his father.

John was clear on that point— _earn_ your wife, he’d said.  Courting is how John got Nancy. Ragnar knows the story. It’s almost legend in their family. Ragnar’s never done it—courting, that is. There just hasn’t been someone he felt was worth the time, effort or energy. Dating though, he’s done a lot of that.

 “Riiight,” Rollo says, looking at him with suspicion.  NEVER have those words come out of Ragnar’s mouth. And never has Rollo seen Ragnar so…behaved. Its out-of-character. Likely a ruse. Ragnar and Lagertha are side-by-side and she’s wearing his shirt. He’s got an arm wrapped around her waist, a hand on her side, fingers entwined.  They lean in to one another and laugh quietly at private jokes between themselves. And Rollo has damn sure hasn’t forgotten that spiked ball to the face.  Rollo knows what’s up. Ragnar wants to fuck and Lagertha hasn’t given in.  

He laughs to himself, liking her ten times more. Serves Ragnar’s ass right she’s making him wait and work for it. Finally, a woman who has said ‘no’ and means it. He can’t wait to see how this plays out. Seems like Ragnar’s been working for it a while now.

“Okay, I’ve got a game. Never have I ever,” Athelstan calls out. Ragnar and Lagertha roll their eyes, but the others enthusiastically agree.

“I’m sitting this one out, folks,” she says. But it’s Siggy who eyes her with a mischievous smile.

“Nope. You’re both in. No protests.” Siggy’s snuggled under Athelstan’s shoulder and Lagertha is leaning against Ragnar. He’s got a beer in his free hand.

The game starts off in good fun—a friendly ribbing here, the dredging of embarrassing information there. They all share a good laugh as Floki is forced to recount the time he had to do the walk of shame in downtown L.A. with no pants.

“Never have I ever stopped traffic with my billboard,” Bjorn says to a round of laughter. Ragnar loses a finger.

“Oh I need to hear this one,” Athelstan says with a grin.

“Yeah…modeling,” Ragnar grumbles. He really hates talking about it.  Siggy whips out her phone. A quick google search pulls up the photos and she immediately starts laughing, passing the phone to Lagertha, who cracks up.

“ _Look_ at you!”

Ragnar gives Bjorn and ugly look. He just snickers.

“Ragnar did they…shave you?” She’s still flipping through the photos. The internet is forever.

“Hey! That was sexy in the 2000’s. I needed a job.”

“ _Sexy_ my ass…it’s like looking at a baby bird. Sorry, but…not hot. You look prettier than _I_ do…did they _curl_ your hair?”  Lagertha thumps him gently on the chest.

“So…you’re saying I wasn’t your type?”

Lagertha shakes her head. “I feel guilty just looking at it. Total jailbait.” She says holding up the photo and tapping the screen with a red finger nail.

Everyone gets a laugh, and Ragnar steals a kiss from her. “But I’m all grown up now,” he whispers suggestively in her ear. It earns him an elbow to the side.

Siggy goes next. Ragnar and Lagertha have the most fingers remaining.

“Never have I ever…had sex with my co-star,” Siggy says batting her eyes innocently at them, while lowering one of her own. She’s fishing, but the net comes up empty. Only Athelstan lowers his finger and they look at each other appraisingly.

Floki’s been watching Ragnar and Lagertha since they got in. And he’s suspicious too.  So he decides to poke around a little bit…test the waters.

“Never have I ever had sex in a bar bathroom.” There’s a collective ‘ooh’ followed by a moment of silence as everyone looks around, waiting to see whose finger will fall.

Ragnar lowers his quietly.

Siggy’s eyes fall on him, and Athelstan snickers. Bjorn and Rollo are chuckling. Lagertha looks up at him too.

Mother Fuck.

Floki pipes up. “Weeelll….what say you, Ragnar?”

“Fuck you.” He’s not happy. This is not something he feels like sharing, especially not with a person of interest curled up against him.

“Sorry man. Unlike you, I’m trying to stay clean,” Floki giggles, a laugh so high pitched it makes everyone near hysterical. It’s a double shot of shade, but for a moment, Ragnar thinks he’s gotten off the hook, but Lagertha brings the conversation back to the subject at hand.

“So…I want to know what happened. You still haven’t explained,” she says, looking at him, her face unreadable. Ragnar sighs, running a hand through his hair and mentally cursing Floki. A partial truth will do.

“There’s not really a story. I was drunk…and high,” he says, trying to play it off. But Floki has zero chill and is presently at work violating the bro code.

“It was anal. Ragnar’s version of ‘safe’ sex.”

The guys laugh, Lagertha spits her beer and Siggy starts choking on hers _._ Certain things are definitely better left unknown.

Ragnar covers his face with his hand, exhaling deeply. They’re really going to do this to him…right here. Right now. The women exchange a look and Lagertha shakes her head in answer.

Bjorn breaks in out of turn. It’s now obvious what the new game plan is. Floki fired the first shot at Ragnar’s battleship and he’s planning on hitting it with a cannon ball. Because never has Ragnar ever flat out lied about woman.

 “Never have I ever had a foursome.”

 “ _Wait—what_?” Athelstan looks incredulous. “I get three…but how the hell do you do four?”

Bjorn is sniggering.  “You’ll see.”

Ragnar glares at him while lowering another finger leaving his thumb and middle digit raised.  Athelstan catches it.

“Seriously? Two on two, or three-on-one? All girls? All guys? A mix?”

“Three women. Not much to tell really. I…have a really big…heart.”

“And a little brain,” opines Bjorn. Ragnar shrugs, trying to play it down while not looking at Lagertha. Because hell…what can he say? She’s unwrapped her hand from his and scooted away, out of their embrace. They’re no longer touching, and the warm intimacy he’s been basking in for the past few hours is gone.  Just now is he noticing the temperature has dropped.

Shit.

“You lucky bastard,” Athelstan says, impressed. Bjorn is still laughing, but Ragnar’s not.  There’s a conspiracy against him, a fucking set up.

It’s Lagertha’s turn, and she looks over at him, pondering. There’s a tiny smile playing at the corner of her lips as she reaches over to tickle him under the chin and play with the whiskers.

 _Maybe_ it’s a good sign. _Maybe_ she’s not as mad as he thinks.

“Never have I ever had a girl kick my ass.”

It’s a finger he’s actually happy to lose—a question innocent of all innuendo, and nothing embarrassing. Athelstan loses a finger too, and thank goodness for that, because he won’t have to tell any more stories.

Lagertha’s stepping in for the save, trying to spare him further humiliation and for that Ragnar is grateful. He nods in acknowledgement and reaches for her but she takes his hand and pushes it away gently, shaking her head. He can take that. She probably thinks she’s going to catch something if she gets close again.

Finally, mercifully, it’s his turn. “Never have I ever done a sex scene.”

Lagertha loses a finger and shudders. He sees it.

“That bad?”

“It was gross. Some random guy dry humping on your leg, and he’s hard…you can feel him there….ugh…awful. I swear—it was the worst experience. Do you know they make these things called Penis sleeves? That dirty fuck didn’t even wear one. I swear I should have sued for sexual harassement.”

“Was that Tom Franks from ‘Guilded Heart?’” Siggy asks.

“Yeah, AND he had onions for lunch, and he was sweating all over me…just…No.” Lagertha and Siggy laugh. “Good to know. I plan on not working with him anytime soon,” Siggy says.

“Never have I ever...” Athelstan thinks on it a moment, then grins.  “Never have I ever been in love with my co-star.” He’s fishing too, but all he manages to catch is Siggy.

She looks at him with fake-shock.

“You don’t love me?” She gasps. He leans over and gives her a quick kiss. “You know I’m your bitch. What we’ve got is greater than love.”

This gets a round of applause and a few whistles too.

It’s Rollo’s turn now and he’s been brewing over this one a while. He’s been watching Ragnar and Lagertha—and he can tell—there’s a lot more than ‘just friends’ there. It’s in the way they kissed in the pool, the way they were sidled up close and now, after Floki and Bjorn—apart and distant. They’ve been touching all day. Ragnar definitely wants her, and Rollo is of the opinion he doesn’t really deserve Lagertha. Granted, he doesn’t know much about the woman, except that she’s beautiful, and she has Ragnar pussy-whipped, which is hilarious because she hasn’t even given him any. And normally, its Ragnar who has the upper hand in these matters.

 Rollo wonders if Lagertha even knows what a feat she’s accomplished. Judging from her reaction to Floki and Bjorn…he thinks there’s a lot Ragnar hasn’t told her, and likely won’t. The man has it bad. There’s a first time for everything.

This isn’t personal. Floki and Bjorn have put holes in Ragnar’s battleship, but Rollo is about to sink that motherfucker.  And he knows the perfect shot to take. ‘Courting’ his ass.

“Never have I ever been married.” He says with smirking confidence.  

The surprise comes when he manages to take out both of them.  Ragnar and Lagertha lose fingers, and they look at each other with questions, but now isn’t the time to ask them. The look Ragnar gives Rollo makes him consider finding a hotel for the night. Maybe they all should at this rate. He’s pretty sure Ragnar is about ready to drag all three of them across the pavement.  

 “Well folks, I don’t know about you, but I’m drunk and ready to crash.” Athelstan yawns and goes to put the fire out as they all get up and move inside. It’s gotten chilly and they’re still in swimsuits. The women go to their rooms and Ragnar shows his friends to the spare bedroom and the pullout couch, letting them fight over who gets what. He retreats to his own.

Soon most everyone is asleep. When she gets out of the shower, Lagertha throws on a t-shirt and tiptoes past the living room toward Ragnar’s door. Knocking gently she waits, and it opens for her, allowing her to slip inside quietly.

Rollo rolls over to see a shadow moving. He adjusts his eyes as the dim moonlight glints off Lagertha’s hair and pretends to be asleep as he sees Ragnar’s door open and Lagertha disappear inside.

Nope. Uh uh. No way. They’re definitely not ‘just friends’.

.

.

 “Anal sex…in a bar bathroom…and…a foursome?” She raises an eyebrow as Ragnar peels the blankets back for her. But she doesn’t come to the bed.

Not tonight. Hell…maybe never again.

“What kind of person _are_ you?”

So she is mad. Ragnar gets up to come over to her. “It was all before I met you.”  It’s probably best not to lie. But Lagertha looks less than impressed.

“If we’re being honest with each other…I’m a bit disgusted with you.”  All of the attraction she may have felt for him is quickly fading. The brave face she’s been wearing for the past hour is gone and when Ragnar reaches out to touch her, she shudders. It’s one of revulsion. He draws back, looking hurt.

“You’re looking at me like I’m diseased.”

“ _Are_ you? I’m starting to wonder.” She shoots back. “Is that how you operate?” Oh _God_ is she glad she hasn’t had sex with him. Tonight would have sent her into a panic.

Ragnar sighs, stepping away from Lagertha to go to a table next to the bed. He opens a drawer and comes back with papers.

“Look, neither of those incidents were my best moments. I get tested every four months and I’ve done it for years. See?”

She looks at the paper work. Sure enough, it’s a screening from just a few weeks ago.

“Does it help?”

“A little…” the discomfort eases just slightly. One question answered at least.  She moves to the bed and sits, but doesn’t climb under the covers. Ragnar’s friends have made her wonder what else she doesn’t know about him. What else he hasn’t told her.

The question is direct, straight to the point.

“How many people have you been with?” Lagertha wants to know exactly _who_ and _what_ she is dealing with. Because _her_ Ragnar, the Ragnar of the past few months, is different from the Ragnar that emerged tonight. Her Ragnar is charming and endearing, a gentleman, a bit of a slob, but overall a good person.  The one from tonight is…a whore.  And the two Ragnar’s aren’t reconciling in her mind.

Oh no.

This may be the worst question Lagertha could have asked. But it looks like they’re going to have this discussion tonight, and it might be better for them, actually. Ragnar wants Lagertha, and he doesn’t want her for sex. He actually wants to be with her. Every relationship he’s ever had has failed through some fault of his, and he’s not trying to repeat those mistakes.

But the truth may tank him now.

He’s never had a conversation like this. Then again, no one has ever asked this question—no one has really cared. Still…if Lagertha were to reject him, he prefers she do it now, when they’re not really anything, than later should they become something. So, he answers to the best of his ability.

“Can you try not to be upset?”

She already knows the answer will be something she won’t like and braces herself. “I will…try.”

“I don’t know.”

As he says it and for his sake, Lagertha is trying to not acknowledge how she feels about that. Unsure. Conflicted. Put off. Turned off. There’s no braggado in it, just a fact. It’s truthful and she gives him some credit for being honest. But…she’d hoped he would have said something like 7. Or 10. Hell, if he’d said 20 or 30 she could be okay, but to just not know, what kind of person doesn’t know? It feels like a cop out.

“ _How_ do you not know?” It’s incredulous.

Ragnar sighs. “I stopped counting a few years ago.”

Lagertha’s momentarily stunned into silence, trying and failing to process those words. How does one lose track of their sexual partners? Unless there have been so many…It’s not an attractive thought. And Ragnar is starting to look worse and worse.

She breathes deep, and exhales slowly, trying to tamp down on the growing feeling of disappointment.  Intellectually she knows it’s wrong to judge a person on their past. Ragnar has been nothing but good to her. But emotionally…

“Okay…how old were you? The first time?”

 “I was 21, when I first got to L.A. It happened after my first shoot.”

Lagertha braces herself and pats the space beside her and Ragnar comes over, settling back into his own bed, which she’s commandeered. It’s been tense, these past few minutes, and he’d almost felt as if he was going to get put out of his own room. So, this…is progress.

 “Tell me the story,” she says. So he does.

“She was an older woman—well, older than I was at the time. I was still new to the city, and she was one of the photographers. She took me back to her place and well…” Ragnar smiles sheepishly.  

She’d schooled his ass, is what happened. Turned him out and he’d stayed attached to her for a year.

“When she dropped me I was sad about it, but…well, she taught me a lot and…I managed to get over it pretty quick. I put those lessons to use.”  It’s been a long time since he even thought about those days. He was such an innocent back then. Maybe not innocent, but definitely naïve.

In watching Ragnar turn reflective, Lagertha smiles softly, feeling a bit of…relief. He’s not as cavalier as she thought. “I’m surprised. I thought you would have said something like 16. You don’t seem like the type to have waited that long.”

“Why are you so surprised? I was trying to make up for lost time. There aren’t a lot of opportunities in Iowa,” at that, he wags his eyes brows at her earning a laugh.

 “How about you?” Ragnar turns the question on Lagertha.

She snuggles a bit closer. “I was 18, about to graduate from high school. It was with my boyfriend. We’d been dating a while.” Since she was 14. Chris was a year ahead of her and her mother had really hated him.

“Let me guess, captain of the football team.” He rolls his eyes.

“More like resident bad boy with a big heart. My mom couldn’t stand him, though. She thought he was trouble, which…I guess trouble is relative when you consider we were prep school kids. Chris just liked to have fun, and he was always messing with people, cracking jokes—like someone else I know.”

An elbow to Ragnar’s side.

“What I liked about him though was that he was loyal to his friends, and he was with me. We were never in a rush to have sex. We just liked each other’s company. He took me to prom, and we had sex the first time that night.”

“A lovely hotel room with candles.” he jumps back in and at that, Lagertha gives a wicked smile. “Nope. On my mom’s bed.”

At that, Ragnar cracks up. A big, deep laugh with a grin that lights up his entire face. He can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard.

She’s got a bad streak, and he’s got to respect that. “Tell me more.”

“Unfortunately, that’s the high point.” The truth is, she thinks they waited too long, and by the time they did decide to try, well… “it was pretty bad. No fireworks, no nothing. We were young, had no idea what we were doing. I mean, yeah, he knew where to put it, but…”

But it just didn’t feel like anything. She’d had all these expectations about what the first time would be like…maybe some discomfort, some pain, blood, pleasure—her friends had talked all about it. But she was an athlete so the big first never happened which made her afraid that Chris would think she’d cheated or something. But she’d read later it was common among athletes, and she was grateful he hadn’t noticed. And there wasn’t any discomfort, or pain or pleasure…she hadn’t felt anything. No stars, no…nothing. It felt like nothing.

They were both so disappointed. Chris had left the next day to go back to school. And when he returned for the summer…

“We tried to date each other, and we tried a few more times, but by then we had just become good friends. So, we decided to stay that way.” There’s a bit of wistfulness there. Ragnar hears it.

“You really liked him.”

“Yeah. I did. First love. Puppy love, maybe.”

A first love. He gets quiet at that and she picks it up. “What about you? Given your countless paramours…have _you_ ever been in love before?”

“Never and always.” It’s meant to be a joke, but it’s full of resentment. Bitterness.

Lagertha’s come closer, and she’s resting her head on his shoulder now. This is the most he’s ever talked about such things with another person. He struggles to find the words to give it voice. She takes his hand in hers, rubbing circles in the palm.

Ragnar starts talking again, looking at the far wall.

“That’s the bad part about being late to the game. Feels like everyone knows more than you. I’m a farm boy, I didn’t know shit about women when I moved to Los Angeles.” Those first few years were a mess. He was too naïve, too stupid to know when he was being used. And he got played a lot, used a lot--even when he thought he had the upper hand.

 “Most of the women in L.A. aren’t like the ones I grew up with,” he explains. “It’s a little like being prey. Case in point—that foursome? I thought I was really doing something…” he’d thought he had finally scored when he got the three of them to agree to go to bed with him that night. Only to find out later… “they were well known…searching for a rich husband, to be polite about it.”

Actually, he’d found out in the worst way when an acquaintance of his had made casual mention of it…after the fact. “They dropped my ass quick when they realized I’m not the kind of guy who drives around in a Ferrari. Or the type to buy them one.”

He shakes his head ruefully.  Even though he may not have bought them anything material…they’d managed to burn a hole through his pocket. Expensive restaurants, wine, clubs… That time, he’d literally paid for sex. A 22-year-old idiot.

“Like I’ve said before. I’m not as stupid as I look. I’m a fast learner. So after that, I became the hunter. It’s better to be the predator than the prey.”

Ragnar says it casually, but the hurt is apparent. Lagertha can tell he had a hard time in the beginning. And he’s right. Some women are cruel. She can imagine him as that guy in the picture-- adorably young and baby-faced, trying to figure out this industry. She had her mom, Caroline, to guide her through and protect her. But Ragnar didn’t have anyone, so he’d had to work it out on his own. And the best defense is a good offense. So that was his choice.  Now, she gets it. She doesn’t agree with it, but she understands a lot more. Her arms wrap around one of his and she feels him kiss her on the top of the head.

“So…how about you?” Ragnar asks. “What’s your body count?”

Oh Boy.

That’s not something she really shares. But he was brave enough to tell her the truth, and so she closes her eyes and says it out loud.

“Two.”

A beat.

A pause.

“Two?” Ragnar looks down at the top of Lagertha’s head. “Two?” He repeats, slightly skeptical, and kind of angry really. Because he’s told her the truth and she’s not doing the same and he’s starting to feel as if he’s being played all over again.

“Come on, Lagertha. For real. How many?” It’s accusing.

She never should have started down this track. He thinks she’s lying. She shifts, letting go of his arm in order to sit up and turn to face him.

“Only two.”

“HOW is that even possible?” There’s disbelief written all over Ragnar’s face. He’s shaking his head, trying and failing to understand it. Women lie about this stuff all the time. He knows from experience and he’s had a lot of it. “Are you REALLY going to sit here and expect me to believe that?  Because there’s no way in hell its only two.”  

There’s a rule.

With guys…divide by two. With women, multiply by two…but even if he does that…it only gets to four and that still feels unacceptably low.

Maybe if she said five, or six or seven….10…15? Hell any number really…but two?

“Bullshit.”

Lagertha sighs bitterly, wrapping her arms around herself.  “Ragnar, I was 19 when I left for college. I dropped out after my first semester and I was 21 when I started dating the man who would eventually become my ex-husband. We were married for five years. Do the math. I turned 27 in November.”

He does and he’s instantly shamed. “It’s just…surprising, is all.”

“I try not to broadcast it.”

“So…nothing between Chris and your ex-husband?”

 She shakes her head. “I dated a few guys. But I’m picky. And I don’t do casual sex. I guess I need something…more.”

“I get it,” and he does. Because he has the same exact problem, only in reverse.

Where Lagertha doesn’t do casual sex, Ragnar doesn’t do commitment.

The air is heavy around them. Not tense, just…heavy. It’s time to lift it.

“Come here,” he says, pulling her close and kissing her softly on the cheek before leaning back against the headboard, legs stretched out, and arms behind his head.  Ragnar glances over at Lagertha out the side of his eye, a tiny smirk on his face.

 “So…I want to know something…” he starts slowly.

 She glances at him. “What?”

“I’m curious…when you were going through my luggage…what all did you find in there?”

At that, Lagertha laughs out loud, and the heaviness dissipates. She climbs under his blankets and he does the same as they turn to face each other.

“WHY in the hell are you carting around porn videos?” He laughs too and gathers her in his arms.

“I’m pretty sure porn is on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.” It gets him a pillow to his face, but she’s smiling, and he knows its okay again.  


	14. June Part 4

 “Yes, mom...No, mom… Caroline—again--my final answer remains no. It’s not going to happen. I don’t want to talk to him.  Ok. You too. Bye.”

Lagertha hangs up the phone, frustrated. Her mother always makes her frustrated. Still harping on and on about Kalf. It’s been 10 months since the divorce was finalized, but Caroline has yet to accept it. And it’s not like she doesn’t know what’s going on. Ever since Lagertha told Kalf not to call her anymore back in January, he’s been trying to talk though Caroline in the hope her mother still has some sway.

Caroline has always loved Kalf. Hell, she’d introduced Lagertha to him. But just because Caroline loves his ass doesn’t mean she has to. They divorced for a reason.

It’s a lazy Sunday and Siggy is reading over her script settled into the living room couch.  But she can’t really concentrate on the words in front of her. Ragnar and Athelstan are off doing whatever men do on the weekend, and it’s been a while since she and Lagertha were alone. There’s no better time than the present to bring it up. Inquiring minds MUST know, and she’s been dying to know for weeks. Months, really.

Siggy lowers her script as Lagertha walks into the living room.

 “Are you and Ragnar fucking?” Straight. No chaser.

Lagertha looks at her, eyes wide with mortification.

“NO!”

“Ok. Then what ARE you two doing then? Cause at least one of you doesn’t wake up in the same bed they fell asleep in.”

“We’re just friends, Siggy. That’s it.”

“ _Uh huh_. Friends…who sleep together every night… _Friends_ that aren’t fucking—ok. Let me change the question. Are ya’ll having sex, making love, bumping uglies, doing the happy baby dance, the horizontal tango, joint masturbation…?”

“Stop.” Lagertha’s voice is firm. “Nothing is happening. I swear?”

Siggy looks at her incredulously.  “I bet you actually believe that,” she says.

“It’s not. We’re just really close. We talk a lot. We like each others company.”

Siggy is still skeptical. “Sorry if I don’t buy it. You two looked like you were about to fuck in the middle of the club.”

The club…the memory makes Lagertha flush a bit. Still, she shakes her head. “We’re _not_ having sex.”

_At least, not physically…_

“But yet you two _are_ sleeping together,” Siggy says. “No offense, Lagertha. But I don’t know anyone who is ‘just friends’ with someone they sleep with every night. Not to mention the kissing. I wasn’t born yesterday. And I’m pretty sure, even if you two aren’t screwing around, you’ve both done more than just ‘sleeping’. Admit it, you like him.”

“Maybe I do. But just because I like him doesn’t mean I have to have to have sex with him.”

This isn’t something she wants to discuss, what she feels for Ragnar, because she’s not sure where it’s heading and hell, it could just fizzle out, just like Chris. At this point, it’s all very uncertain.

 “Is this about last week? When his friends threw his dirty laundry in the street? Is that what turned you off?”

“No, we had a long talk afterward. I’m just…”

Not ready. Too afraid to try because she already knows what the failure is like.  

 “Well, if you’re good with the fact he’s a whore, and you’re okay with what he’s done, then I don’t get what the holdup is. Are you worried if you let him hit it, he’ll disappear? Cause that seems unlikely. It’s obvious you two are…something. Ragnar likes you. And you dig him.  I don’t think once you bag him he’s going to run away—he’s got too much time invested. So you might as well go for it and have some fun. And Ragnar _does_ seem like he’s fun…in bed.”

Siggy peeks over her script at Lagertha, hiding a grin.

“Just make sure he’s got his shots and the seat is covered before you sit on it.”

“Siggy!!!” But Lagertha is cracking up as Siggy goes to her phone and cues up George Clinton’s _Atomic Dog._

 “What about you and Athelstan?” Lagertha asks once she calms down.  Siggy grins.

“It’s good sex. We’re the best of friends. He’s my bitch. That’s how we roll,” she says picking her script back up. Lagertha does the same, and they start reading and rehearsing.

It’s late when the guys come back and by then, Lagertha and Siggy are well into their second bottle of wine. _Expendables_ is playing on the living room TV. They’re laughing at some joke known only to them when Ragnar and Athelstan walk into the house.

“What’s so funny?” Ragnar asks, plopping down in another chair.

They look at each other and start laughing again. Siggy grabs her phone and _Atomic Dog_ begins to play. It’s clearly an inside joke, and he doesn’t get it. Lagertha gets up and comes over to give him a kiss on the cheek before heading off to her room. His eyes follow her and she catches him looking and smiles.

 “Welp. Long day, I’m out.” He says going to his room to shower. Athelstan’s laugh follows him down the hall.

By the time he’s made his way to Lagertha  Siggy and Athelstan are gone. He knocks and tries the door and it opens.

She's under her blankets reading as he comes to sit beside her.

“Do you want to finish our conversation where we left off last week?”

She laughs a little and rolls over, closing her book and putting it on her nightstand.  “Fine. Tell me about your porn collection.”

Ragnar chuckles as he climbs under the blankets and lays down to kiss her. It’s long, and slow. Her lips are so soft…

“Better yet, do you want to watch it?”

At the mention of that Lagertha turns off the lights and slips under the blankets. It catches him off guard and he follows her there into darkness, sliding up her body. But she puts a leg up against his chest, blocking him from advancing any further and he rolls away, exhasperated.

 Tonight, he’s getting to the bottom of it. He knows she doesn’t do casual sex. And he’s not _trying_ to have casual sex. But he also knows she’s not afraid to push his buttons and she’s tapped damn near all of them already. They’ve been going round and round in circles now for weeks.  Lagertha’s calm and cool in every other situation—shit, they even went skydiving together.

But when it comes to this…

“For someone who tried to jump me in and after the club, why are you so shy all of a sudden?”

“I did NOT jump you.”

He can’t see her, and she can’t see him.

“Come _on_. This isn’t hard, Lags. YOU started it. I want you. You want me.  So _why_ are you being so damned difficult?”

Ok. So maybe this wasn’t exactly how the rest of their conversation was supposed to go. His frustration is showing.

“It’s _not_ a matter of wanting, Ragnar. People _want_ things all the time. Wanting isn’t enough.”

“Then _please_ tell me what I need to do, because honestly Lags, you’re killing me.”

And she is. For the past three months he’s ended up with cock in one hand, remote in the other. The cold showers are losing their effectiveness. There are only so many cigarettes he can smoke and so much whiskey he can drink to knock the edge off. Their sparring sessions are more like foreplay now and he’s gradually turning into a functional alcoholic AND a serial masturbator. It’s really not a good look.

“There are plenty of other women who, I’m sure, wouldn’t mind helping you out,” Lagertha says defensively.  “And with _your_ track record, I’m sure it won’t be that hard for you to find one.”

He rolls his eyes, deciding to ignore the barb. “I _don’t want_ another woman. I _want_ you. I think I’ve been absolutely clear on that point. And by the way, I know _damn well_ you _don’t_ mean that last bit.”

It gets silence. They’re still under the covers. It’s dark. The fabric mutes their voices.

 Lagertha’s being complicated and for what reason, he’s got no idea and she’s deflecting everything. A different approach is needed.

 “Ok. Let’s try this. Hi, I’m Ragnar. My habits have gotten me in trouble more than a few times…and I’m shit at relationships. I watch porn because I have to get off in the mornings since the woman I’m desperately in like with refuses to help me out. Even though _she_ started it at the club. And she did it again with her wandering hands. In fact, she _keeps_ sending mixed signals. Still, because I like her, I’ve been trying really hard not to press the issue. But if she’d let me I would. And for the record-- I think you need to get off more than I do, love.”

He feels her shift under the blankets, scooting closer. And he can almost make out her face in the darkness.

 “Hi…I’m Lagertha,” It’s soft. Muffled. “I’ve only been with two guys. Both were long-term relationships. But the second guy…he wasn’t very nice. I like you too, but sometimes you make me nervous. I’m sorry for leading you on, but…I don’t know if I’m quite ready for what you want yet.”

He pulls down the blankets so that he can see her face.  

“You didn’t tell me you ex-husband wasn’t nice,” Ragnar says examining Lagertha closely through the darkness. She’s not looking at him, and she’s curled up. “Is that what the real problem is?”

The entire mood has shifted.

 “Can we just go to sleep? I don’t want to talk about it.” She hadn’t meant to mention Kalf. And it’s too late to take it back now. Ragnar zeroed in on the part she didn’t mean to let slip.

So he leaves it alone for the time being, kissing her face instead, trying to get her to open up again. The kisses are warm and affectionate, not overtly sexual. They’re meant for comfort. After a while, Lagertha  unfurls and snuggles into his body and he wraps his arms around her, enjoying the way she feels against him like this.

Eventually, she drifts off to sleep. But he can’t. He’s thinking about what she said, his mind running through the myriad of things her ex-husband could have done to make her this way. To make her shut down like this. Lagertha is too bold, too brilliant, too sexy and too confident to be so closed. It’s not intimacy that scares her, he knows this now. It’s sex.

And that’s beyond upsetting. He knows she likes him. He likes her too. More than he’s ever liked anyone. But it’s clear at least one topic is off limits…at least for now.

It may very well be safer this way. Because if she tells her secrets, she’ll want to know his. And his, as have already proven true, are pretty big fuck ups. And there’s an even bigger one he knows he’ll never be able to explain away.

“I can wait for you,” he whispers to her as she sleeps, “for as long as it takes.”

Because she’s worth it. And there’s no risk in waiting. It’s safer.

For both of them.

.

.

Athelstan corners him a week later—on set this time with the same directly blunt approach that Siggy used with Lagertha.

“So, is it good?” He asks.

“Is what good?” Ragnar replies.

“You _know_.” Athelstan says mindful there are others around.

“No, I don’t,” Ragnar replies, knowing but deliberately staying quiet.

“She says you two aren’t doing anything.”

“We aren’t. We’re just friends.”

Athelstan sighs and rolls his eyes.

“What about you and Siggy?” Ragnar asks back. His friend is blunt.

“We fuck. I’m her bitch. She turns me on. That’s what it is. At least _we’re_ honest about it. You know, denial is not just a river in Egypt.”


	15. July Part 1

**July**

Episode Seven.

Lagertha puts down the script and just stares at it a minute. A sex scene. And this one, far more explicit than what she filmed for Gilded Heart, and that had been disgusting, almost…invasive. What Ecbert has written for them is…graphic, and she’s just not sure she’s up to it.

The idea of filming with a bunch of people watching is just…revolting, really. It was bad enough filming for the movie, and she’s pretty sure its going to be bad to film for the show.  There’s really only one small redeeming quality about it—at least, it’s with Ragnar. But even that is shaky too. Because well…its Ragnar.  

They need to talk.

Lagertha gets up and goes to his room, knocking on the door. She waits and it opens.

As soon as he sees her, she’s biting her bottom lip, and he knows it’s a sign of nervousness.

“So, I just finished reading the script for episode seven.” Ragnar nods. “Yeah. I saw it.”

Seven months in, and they’re preparing to film episode seven.

“At least it’s with you,” she says resignedly sitting on the edge of his bed.  It makes him feel a bit guilty that he’s been looking forward to filming this, and now knowing she’s dreading it.

“Are they really that bad?” He asks. He’s never shot a sex scene before.  

“The one I shot for my last movie? Yeah. It was pretty rough. Both of us were miserable. Cold. Lots of holding in awkward positions for hours. We didn’t really have anything on. Some random, sweaty guy with hot breath dry humping me and he’s hard. It was fucking disgusting,” she shudders at the memory.

“But that’s tame compared to what’s written here. This is…kind of explicit. I think Ecbert just wants to see what he can get away with,” Lagertha tells him, sitting down on the bed.

“I promise to have fresh breath,” he tells her. “And I won’t hump your leg.” She smiles a bit as he turns serious, reaching for her. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable and I will be on my best behavior.”

She smiles up into his face, tugging at his beard and bringing him closer a chaste kiss.

“This is why you’re my friend.”

Friend. He’s really trying to be more than that.

.

.

The smell hits him as soon as he opens the door, making his mouth water.  He knows exactly what’s for dinner, and when he goes into the kitchen, Lagertha is preparing two plates, with two absolutely perfect steaks on them. Ragnar wraps his arms around her and kisses the back of her neck.

“For me?”

She smiles. “I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“What did I do to earn it?”

She turns to face him, his arms still wrapped around her waist.

“I wanted to say thank you…for not…rushing me.” Soft lips land like a butterfly on his nose.

Lagertha detangles herself from his grip so she can finish the plates. The mixed vegetables go next: green beans and carrots, followed by the baked potatoes. He moves off to grab a bottle of wine and two glasses. They meet at the table.

Ragnar knows a great steak when he tastes one. Bad cooks use sauce. A good steak needs none. Lagertha’s are out of this world. The meat just melts and it’s like an orgasm for his mouth. He groans a bit as he chews.

She watches Ragnar eat, his head back, eyes closed and it brings a grin to her face. He looks like a kid who got the perfect toy for Christmas.

In truth, she had just wanted to cook for him. Ragnar had loved his hotel meal and she hasn’t had a chance yet to really break in their stove, and since Siggy and Athelstan are out tonight, it felt like the right time. It also felt like the right time to show him that he’s appreciated.

She's not stupid. They’ve been out together and she’s seen the looks women have given him. And from what Floki, Rollo and Bjorn have suggested, it doesn’t take a lot to draw conclusions. If he really wanted to, Ragnar could easily go elsewhere. But, he hasn’t. For some reason, he’s sticking to her, even though she knows what he wants more than anything is something she keeps denying him. It’s her hang-up, not his.

The food on his plate disappears quickly. Lagertha has knocked out her veggies and potato and half the steak. When he realizes it’s still there, he gives her begging eyes and she slides it over to him watching as he clears the rest of her plate and leans back in his chair, a look of total satisfaction on his face. She stands to take the dishes to the kitchen but he grabs her and pulls her down onto his lap, nuzzling her neck.

“Thank you.” He says it seriously, because it means so much to him. It means she cares for him in a way no one else does, and it makes him feel close to her. No woman outside of his mother has ever cooked for him, and it’s an act of intimacy, of love. That’s something his parents once said, when he and his brothers groaned about why she cooked all the time. They had been young—itching for a pizza. Their father had looked at them and laughed contentedly after finishing his dinner.

“A woman feeds those she loves.” Nancy told her boys.

Their father had taken them aside afterward.  “If she can satisfy your stomach, she’s feeding your heart and soul too.”

It had gone over their heads at the time, and he’s not thought of it in the years since. But Lagertha had reminded him of this back in March at the hotel. And he now fully understands the truth of his parents’ words. Lessons from the farm.

Lagertha unwraps herself and goes to the kitchen, coming back with neopolitan ice cream.

“You’re dessert.” She says with a grin.

The next morning there’s a knock on her bedroom door. She opens it, bleary-eyed, to see Ragnar standing there.

“I made you breakfast,” he says holding out a bowl of cheerios.

.

.

“Where are we going?” They’re driving a rented truck, heading somewhere, Ragnar won’t tell her.

“Patience,” he tut-tuts under his breath. Otis Redding’s smooth, slightly rugged tenor floats out the speakers. She settles in for the drive.

They pull up to a boat dock on the edge of Lake Ontario and Ragnar gets out, striding over to a man dressed in faded jeans and a flannel shirt. They talk for a minute and Ragnar comes back to the truck and begins to turn them around.

“What are we doing?”

“Picking up something,” he says. She turns around at the sound of a loud clank, and the truck sinks down lower under additional weight.

They’ve got a powerboat now hitched to the back.

“Thanks, Chuck! It’ll be back later today,” Ragnar calls out the window as they drive off.

He still won’t tell her where they’re going, so Lagertha decides to put her feet up on the dash and just ride.

Eventually they start heading in the direction of the set, she watches it go by and they continue for about two more miles before Ragnar turns off on a dirt road. They drive another mile or two before the trees and the road give way to a pasture, and in the middle, a large lake with a small cottage on it. He backs the truck down the boat launch and gets out to unhitch it.

Lagertha climbs out as well, as Ragnar comes back, unloading a cooler from the bed and handing it to her.

“I’ll be right back,” he says before climbing back in and moving the truck into the parking zone. When he comes again, he’s got two fishing roads and a smaller Styrofoam container with him.  He takes her hand and climbs onto the boat, helping her in as well. She puts the cooler down and takes a seat on one of the four chairs and he powers them away from the shore and out into the water.

The wind through her hair feels great, and it’s a beautiful, cloudless day. The temperature is perfect for boating. They come to a stop a ways out.

“We’re fishing?” Lagertha says as Ragnar begins to set up the rods. He nods.

“Yeah. I wanted to bring you with me. I wasn’t sure you’d say yes if I told you where we were going.” Ragnar’s attention is now focused on baiting the lines. She looks into the container and grimaces. Live worms.

He’s right about that.

“I don’t know how to fish,” she says, trying not to look at the worm squirming on the hook.

“Do you want to learn?” Now, he’s looking back at her, and those sharp ass eyes don’t miss anything. Like the way Lagertha looks super uncomfortable and unsure.

“I’m willing.” A sigh of relief.

“Here. I’ll show you.” Ragnar puts the rod in her hands and gets behind her, holding her arms.

“You have to cast off,” he says. “Not too hard, but with enough force that it’ll go out.” Lagertha swings but the line doesn’t go anywhere—it just bounces a bit in the air.

“Here,” Ragnar moves her hand down to the reel, “you need to let this part out.” He moves her hands in the proper place and brings them back up to the handle. “Okay, ready to cast?”

She nods and he helps her through the motion. She gets her line into the water, and Ragnar goes to his.

He casts off like an expert and takes a seat on the chair, reaching into the cooler to take out a beer for himself, and a wine cooler for her.

“So what do we do now?” Lagertha asks.

“We wait.”

Ragnar has hooked his iPhone to the speakers in the boat, and Otis’ voice surrounds them in the quiet of the lake.

 _Come to me for I'm lonely_  
Come to me for I'm lonely, darling  
Come to me and be my girl  
For I love, love you so

 They sit together in companionable silence, and as she looks around her, she realizes that it really is perfect. Just the two of them, floating on the water. Doing nothing. Saying nothing. And she’s glad for it, that neither of them feels the need to fill the silence with empty words.

Ragnar casts a sidelong look at Lagertha, sitting forward in her chair, staring out over the lake.

Otis is getting to him.

Never has he gotten a woman to come fishing with him. And he knows that if this were any other woman they’d be trying to say something, anything to fill the quiet. But not Lagertha. He’d wanted to bring her here, to the lake, his private place. The place where he can get lost in his own thoughts, cry about his losses, yell about his frustrations and just brood over everything. His lonliness. His sorrows.

There’s so much he hasn’t told her…

Like how he has a son.

And how he misses Ivar every single day. How he misses his baby so much it makes him physically hurt. He hasn’t told her that’s why he’d been holed up in his room back in March, because it was the day Ivar was born.  He hasn’t told her that’s the reason he was drunk in the living room the night she came home—because it was the first time he’d seen his son since the day he was born, and how he’d been so happy to hear Ivar call him ‘dada’…only to feel as if someone stabbed him in the heart when his baby turned around and did the same to some faceless, nameless guy.

He hasn’t told Lagertha that his ex-wife isn’t ex, yet. He hasn’t said he’s stuck in what feels like a never ending hate-fest with Aslaug, in a fight over custody, child support, that’s dragged on for more than a year now. He hasn’t said how it’s slowly killing him, strangling him, and that he’s trying to break free but can’t. Because he won’t let go of his child. He won’t bow to Aslaug’s demands and he will not allow her to win. He will not allow her to take Ivar away from him forever. And he hasn’t told Lagertha that these are the things that make him disappear, fuel his silence and weigh on his mind almost every night and every day. He has not told her that she’s become his lifeline, that it’s all the little things she’s done for him that are slowly starting to patch him up after a year of being beaten down.

He hasn’t told her she’s the only woman who has ever stayed longer than a few months, the only woman that has made him actually burn with desire, the only woman who has made love to him without touching his body. He wants to tell her how much he appreciates that—the fact she wants more from him, is _demanding_ more from him and he hasn’t told her how much he wants to be the kind of person she thinks he is.

Lagertha is forcing him to be better man, and he wants to be found worthy.  In this way, she’s strengthened him, reinforced him. Pushed him to try and be something different than what he was before her. They never could have met before last year. She would have hated him. Hell, he had started to hate himself, too. 

There’s something else he hasn’t told her…but he hasn’t told himself that yet either.

The lake is his quiet place, and in the many times he’s come have never been more than a few other people here. A bonus is that the property owner has given him use of the little cottage on the shore whenever he wants it. A smile had charmed the old lady into giving him a key.

The song changes.

_Oh she may be weary  
Them young girls they do get wearied_

_Wearing that same old shaggy dress…_

Maybe it’s the word “weary” that caught her…or the plaintive tone of Otis’ voice…or the imagery of the shaggy dress…maybe its’ the wail of the organ in the background…but the song has stirred something deep inside Lagertha, and she’s just staring off across the lake, contemplating. She doesn’t know there are tears rolling down her face.  

The sun and the breeze coupled with the gentle slap of water, and slow rocking of the boat are making her introspective.  The air is fresh…and the silence is welcome.

It’s the first time she’s gotten the opportunity to just…be still.

So much has happened in the past year. She came to Toronto to work—to escape, really --to get as far away from her ex-husband as possible. The divorce was finalized only a few months before she got here in January, and this was supposed to be a fresh start.

She had never expected to meet someone new. Someone who allowed her to be who she is. A person who came with no expectations or demands whatsoever, who treats her as a woman and not an object. She hasn’t told Ragnar how much she appreciates that…appreciates him. Not for anything in particular, but for all the little things. She appreciates him for not being afraid to fight her, for being willing to jump out of an airplane with her, for loving on her when she was sick, and for holding on to her late at night, when it’s cold. She wants to tell him how much she appreciates him for knowing when to press a little more, and for being understanding enough when she needs space. She wants to tell him how grateful she is to him for making her laugh, for making her heart race a little faster, for making her feel excited, and scared, and overwhelmed…because she’s never felt all of these things at the same time before. And she wants to say how happy he’s made her by being willing to grow their relationship, to wait until they’re both ready in order to avoid doing something they could regret. It was Ragnar who made them stop the first time. And it was like he knew…just knew…what they were and weren’t ready for.

His honesty has been refreshing even though it’s made her cringe. Question. There are no lies, and the things they’ve shared are some of her most private thoughts. She trusts him, completely. It’s so different from anything she’s ever experienced before. She cares for him, he makes her _want_ to care for him. Makes her want to almost…cater to him…because he doesn’t ask for it. He doesn’t demand it. Ragnar treats her as his equal… _not_ his trophy. He’s not perfect. Far from it, really. But neither is she, and it’s wonderful to be wanted, valued, not because of what she can do for him, but because of who she is as a person.

He makes her feel free. He opened the cage and she’s run out of it, and she just wants to stand in the sun with him as much as she can and for as long as she can.

Even her skin feels different. Warmer now, and the ice around her heart has melted. What was black and white now has color in it. Ragnar has managed to ease the pain, given her a new beginning. But he doesn’t know that.

No, she hadn’t expected to come to Toronto to get involved with anyone. But she has and she did.  She got involved with Ragnar Lothbrok. And it’s so, so perfect in every single way. And that’s what terrifies her, keeps her from fully committing. Because it’s also fragile, precarious…and she’s afraid that one wrong thing will shatter what they’ve been slowly building into a million pieces, and it won’t be put back together again. She’s afraid of the heartache that inevitably comes with this feeling, because it functions just like gravity. What goes up, always goes down…and she knows the crash well.

Kalf taught her all about the crash.

Lagertha wipes the tear away.

Ragnar has been watching.  He’s never seen Lagertha cry, and he doesn’t know what triggered it. All he knows is that he wants to stop it.

He gets up and walks over to her, bending down next to her chair. She wipes her tears and looks at him with a soft smile.

“Hey.”

“Dance with me.”

“I thought you said you weren’t any good at it?”

He smiles. “I can try, at least.”

Ragnar stands up extending his hand and Lagertha takes it, getting up to come into his arms. The music has stopped, but they dance. Slowly, quietly. Silently. The birds sing in the sky, the trees rustle gently, the water slaps against the side of the boat, the quiet rumble of an idling motor…

This feels right. Like fate. Destiny.

This feels like forever.

A loud clanking sound makes them jump and separate. One of the lines has stiffened.

“Hey! I think I caught something!” Lagertha pulls back from Ragnar and goes to see if there’s anything there. She grabs her pole and lifts it out of the hatch, trying to figure out the reel. He comes next to her and shows her how to guide it in. It’s quickly apparent they’re in for a fight.

Lagertha’s strong, but whatever is on the other end is fighting back, and it takes the two of them together to finally reel it in. When Ragnar pulls the rod up there’s a huge Largemouth bass attached. He’s laughing and she’s happy as all hell with what she’s caught.

“I want a picture!” She says, and he gives her the fish, still on its line. It’s very much alive and when he captures the image with his phone, it’s a Lagertha, grinning wide but looking kind of nervous, the fish held at arms-length by her side, wriggling profusely.

Later, they’re sitting down on the chairs, the fish in water in a bucket between them. She’s peering at it, and Ragnar’s watching her with a proud smile.  Not bad for her first time out.

“Well….do you want to throw it back…or eat it?”

“Oh, after _that_ fight? He’s being eaten!” Lagertha’s positively gleeful and her giddiness makes him laugh.

 “Dinner he is, then. Sorry friend.” Ragnar goes to the front of the boat and starts up the engines. Lagertha takes the chair beside him and they ride back to shore. The sun is starting to set, and by the time they drop off the boat and the truck and get home and both Siggy and Athelstan are out.

“So…what’s next? Are we eating him now, or later?”

He looks at her. She’s serious about this.

“I will clean him, if you cook him.” It earns him a grin.

They shake on it.

Lagertha starts looking up recipes as Ragnar takes the catch to the backyard. When he gets done, he brings the fish back inside, looking like something that she could buy in a store, and she goes to work as he goes to shower. By the time he comes back, she’s got the fish in the oven and it’s her turn to clean up.

Finally after a while, she’s out in time to pull the fish out of the oven, and he’s hovering, waiting to see what she’s done with it.

The bass is beautiful, with some sort of breaded crust on top of it. They let it cool a minute, then take it with them to the couch, where they put it between them and go to work.

Lagertha peels off a piece with her fork, and feeds it to Ragnar, watching as he savors it, licking his lips. Damn it’s good.

“You love this, don’t you?” She says, watching him with happiness.

He nods.  “What did you do to it?”

“Parmesean and almond crusting,” she says.

A bottle of wine later, and they drift off, ending up in his room.

The door closes, and he takes the time to study Lagertha’s face, tracing her lips, her nose, her eyes with his fingers, before backing her up to the bed.

She’s in one of his t-shirts, and he takes it off as he lays her down and starts at the bottom, kissing her toes, individually, before working his way up her body, slowly. When he gets to the part between her legs she shakes her head…and he accepts that, and just places chaste kisses there, on it, between it--a promise for later. She’s trimmed down here, and he’s pleased to know it’s not bald. He hates that.

It’s the first time Ragnar has seen her completely naked, and each curve, each peak and crest and fall on her body is like a vision. She is the most perfect woman he’s ever seen and when his mouth reaches her belly, he takes the time to use his tongue to taste her skin. The journey continues, a warm wet mouth traces the tattoo on her thigh and trails up until his lips find her breasts, sucking on both gently.  She gasps, her body offering itself up to him.

The touch makes her skin burn and never has she wanted anything more than the way she wants him at this moment. She wants to touch him, feel him…his hands all over her…her on his…Ragnar is on top and she reaches down. Nimble fingers find the waist of his sweats, pushing them down. He takes them off and Lagertha’s hand wraps around his cock.

A soft hiss. She stops, looking up.

“Sensitive,” he reminds her, taking her hand in his and guiding her through the proper movement. It begins to feel good incredibly quickly. Her touch makes him shudder as he groans against her mouth, kissing her passionately.

 “Let me touch you, Lags. I _need_ to touch you.” He wants to give her what she’s giving him. He’s allowed her to set the pace, mark the boundaries and he’s not going to go outside them but he’s also not afraid to push…a little.

Ragnar’s large hand is running down her shoulders and arms, across her chest, her breasts down to her belly button, coming to rest between her legs.

“Spread for me,” he commands. Legs part and her breath catches when he slips a thick finger inside her body and starts to move it in tandem to the rhythm she has set with her hand on him. He tries for another, but she whimpers and he pulls it back, keeping with the single digit only.

Mouths and bodies move together, her arm around his neck, the other stroking him; one of his hands between her legs, the other tangled in her hair. It's what they do the rest of the night.

.

.

Lagertha is curled up against him, playing in Ragnar’s chest hair, watching him sleep so soundly. She’s never seen him completely naked before and she takes the time to take in all of him.

There are a smattering of scars…some from their sparring sessions, others far older, faded and raised. He grew up on a farm, this she knows, and he’s got a body built not in a gym, but carved from a life of physical labor. His skin is tanned everywhere—so far from that baby smooth body of his youth. She prefers him as he is now, the calloused hands, rough skin, slightly chapped lips.

She’s always hated the pretty boys. Ragnar isn’t pretty anymore, but he damn sure is fine. He reminds her of a big cat, all raw power momentarily tempered, and she can’t help but imagine what it could feel like should she take the plunge…

Between her legs is still wet and she shifts a bit, trying to tamp down on that. Even if he would have continued she knows it wouldn’t have happened for her. It’s never happened for her. She’s never been able to get there herself. Chris couldn’t do it. And in five years of marriage, her ex-husband didn’t either—she’d faked it with Kalf until she hated him so much she stopped faking.  Other women talk about it, but that’s not part of Lagertha’s experience and she’d long ago come to accept that some things weren’t meant for her. Privately, she’s come to think she’s broken in that regard.

 It’s part of why they do what they do. Why tonight happened. Because she doesn’t want to disappoint Ragnar and she knows he will be when he figures it out. And when he does…what then? What will happen to them?

He’s cute when he’s asleep though, so she focuses on what’s in front of her now. She smiles and laughs quietly at the faces he makes, like he’s kissing something, so she moves her lips to his to catch one.

A yawn.

The digital clock next to the bed reads 1:23 a.m. No wonder. They’ve been up all day. A quick trip to the bathroom to clean herself up, and him too. Finally, when she’s back in his warmth, sleep comes for her as well.

.

.

Only in the morning, when Ragnar wakes up, does he realize she didn’t come.

Lagertha is asleep next to him and he rolls over to study her face. She stirs but doesn’t move, and he makes her a silent promise. One he plans on keeping because they’re slowly creeping closer to the edge, and he knows they’re going to fall over really, really soon.

“You’re coming with me next time, love.” He whispers, kissing her face. 

 


	16. July Part 2

**July Part 2**

 

After twelve takes they still can’t get it right, and Ecbert finally clears the set of all non-essential cast and crew leaving only five people in the room—two videographers, himself, Ragnar and Lagertha.

“Come _on_ you two,” he pleads. “Where’s my fire? My passion? You guys are the hottest couple on TV and yet you’re giving me nothing! _Act_ like you’re into it—Ragnar for god’s sake! You’re supposed to be making love to your _wife_ here! You haven’t seen her in months, you’ve been doubting her faithfulness—there’s a lot in there. Lagertha—you’re relived, overjoyed…you want to bang him to the heavens! Now, let’s get it on, people! I’m pretty sure neither of you are virgins!”

He claps at them.

Lagertha was right about this. It’s completely unsexy. And unnatural. Sex is something that’s not usually performed in front of others, and Ragnar’s arms are starting to hurt from keeping his weight off her while trying to act like he’s actually doing something _without_ actually doing something, when in all honesty, he _really_ wants to be doing something. With her.

They’re under some fur skins and she’s topless and he’s been trying to stay focused on her face, and nowhere else. Having a room full of people watching them try to simulate sex has been the most awkward experience of his life. But they’ve got to do something otherwise they’ll be stuck here all night, and he knows neither of them wants that. It’s as far away from intimate as they can possibly get. What the script is calling for and what he’s used to doing are completely different things, and trying to have fake-sex with his “friend” who he wants to be having real sex with while trying not to at the same time is making the entire situation FUBAR. 

“Okay,” Ecbert calls to them over a loud speaker. “I’m going to walk you two through the choreography here. 3…2…1… Action!”

“Ragnar, thrust!” Ecbert shouts and Ragnar closes his eyes and dry humps the space between them. At least it’s not her leg.

“I need more! Let’s go… one hump, two humps…” 

Dear God can he die now? It’s not working. Clearly, he’s terrible at faking it.

“Lagertha, hips!”

She raises her hips a little and moves against air. But there’s no enthusiasm in it, and it feels so awkward.

“Ragnar…can you PLEASE kiss her?” Ecbert is growing more frustrated by the minute.

He lowers his head and touches Lagertha’s lips with his…just a glancing touch. But her involuntary shudder is the final straw. Ragnar sits up, running a hand through his hair exasperated and Lagertha turns away from him as Ecbert starts screaming and throwing a fit.

 “Cut!!! Cut! Cut! Cut! What. The _Bloody Hell_?” The director says storming up to them.

“I do _not_ get it. You two can be sexy as shit with clothes on and yet you act like two virgins now that we have to shoot this? You’ve had this script for _months_!”

“We’re doing EXACTLY what you wrote,” Ragnar snaps back. He’s so fucking annoyed with Ecbert he just wants to off him right then and there. Lagertha’s sitting now too, a fur wrapped around her body. All she has on are pasties and a thong. For all practical purposes, she’s naked and Ragnar is too, save for his boxers.

“Fine.” Ecbert crosses his arms. Take 10. But we ARE finishing this TONIGHT, and I don’t care how long it takes.” He walks off to a corner to read through the script again, trying to figure out if there’s any modifications that can be made so that Ragnar and Lagertha can finish. Twelve, going on 13 hours of film and nothing is usable.

Ragnar gets up from the bed and goes to get some water. He comes back with two bottles and hands one to Lagertha. She takes it, giving him a soft, sad smile.

“Thank you.”

He settles back on the bed beside her. He can tell she is just as frustrated, embarrassed, and tired as he is.  She turns away from him with a shaky extended exhale.

“It’s alright,” he says, bringing a hand to cup her face. “I promise I _am_ trying.”

“I know you are. This is just…it’s pretty fucking bad.” It comes out exasperated. But something about the way she says it makes him laugh, a real laugh, low and deep, and after a moment it becomes contagious.  A smile creeps across Lagertha’s face and she starts laughing too.

After the day they’ve had, the laughter feels good. It’s like therapy.  

Ecbert, sensing something change, kicks out the last two videographers and grabs a camera, easing his way back to get as far away from them as he can. He wants to shrink, make himself invisible. Maybe then, they’ll calm down and make some magic.

The room has gone quiet and, not seeing Ecbert, Ragnar and Lagertha realize they’re alone. She lays back on the bed and he follows her down, slipping back under the furs. Soon, they’re both laying there together laughing quietly against each other.

Ecbert has noticed.

He lowers the camera to get it into position—he’ll shoot with wide shots. Use the lenses to zoom, don’t get too close. They’re like two beautiful exotic animals, and he doesn’t want to startle them.

Ragnar rolls over on top of her, and Lagertha’s laughter slowly begins to fade away.  She readjusts herself underneath him, brushing against his thigh with her leg. It’s not his thigh. He doesn’t move, just looks at her, studying her face.

“I think they’ve given up on us,” he says, holding her gaze.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks softly reaching a hand up to touch the side of his face. It feels good like this, his body on top of hers, and she doesn’t want him to move.

“A lot of things.”

Like how he doesn’t just like her…how it’s more than like. He’s thinking about how willing he has become to wait in order to prove he’s not the man his friends tried to make him out to be.

He’s not even the same man he was seven months ago.

She tugs at his beard. By now Ragnar knows the sign, and goes in for the kisses, intentionally deepening it by sliding his tongue in her mouth, tasting her. It’s the first time he’s done that, and by the way she responds he knows she likes it. She pulls back from him as he rests his forehead on hers, their noses touching. “What do we do now?” He whispers against her ear, brushing his beard against her cheek as his mouth finds her neck, sucking on her just a bit as he shifts position to use one of his legs to spread hers. 

A low moan escapes as she feels a pulsing sensation in her lower belly, coupled with a rush of heat that makes her whole body tingle. What he’s doing on her neck with his mouth feels like heaven and she wants nothing more than to just slip away as Ragnar starts working his way lower.

His head disappears under the furs, and she feels his mouth on her breast, his fingers deftly removing the pasty to catch her nipple between his teeth, licking and sucking on it gently. The skin on his hands is hard, calloused, and the sensation of those hands sliding down her stomach makes her tingle. One of his fingers slips between her legs, probing and it makes her jump and try to shut her thighs, but Ragnar’s body is blocking that. His mouth gets lower and she feels the finger tease her clit before slipping inside.

Lagertha gasps his name as she arches back, the furs falling down her chest, leaving her breasts exposed.

She tries to push him off but he’s between her legs already and one arm pulls her back down as he slides a thick finger in an out of her, his thumb circling her clit. It makes her bite her lip hard to keep from crying out as she tries to fight what he’s doing to her. But the well of resolve is starting to evaporate and when he takes his finger out, she whimpers at the loss, before letting out a loud moan at the feel of his tongue where his finger had been.

Ragnar takes a long, slow lick and Lagertha cries out in pleasure. And when he does it again, her legs come up on the side of his head, and he has to wrap his arms around them so she doesn’t end up strangling him. But damn if he’s going to stop now.

Her whimpers only serve to drive him on and the shaky gasps coupled with her hands pulling his hair let him know she’s loving it. Her pleasure is his entire goal and he won’t stop until he gets her off. He’s keeping the promise.

They’ve forgotten exactly where they are.

Lagertha’s legs start to tremble.

Bang!

Reality comes blazing back with a vengeance. She bolts upright quick grabbing at the furs to cover herself. Ragnar pops out from between her legs and grabs a nearby blanket to wrap around his waist.

A clashing noise interrupts the moment and the door has opened finding Ecbert on the floor clutching his camera.

“Shit!”

“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” The director is cussing aloud, fiddling with the camera as one of the videographers comes back inside.

“Sorry Ecbert. I didn’t see you behind the door,” he says.

Ecbert waves him off. “Never mind that. Did I get the shots? PLEASE tell me I got those shots…”

Ragnar is looking Ecbert, his face a mask, while Lagertha stares at the floor. “Yes!!! Got ‘em! Praise the gods in heaven! It only took 13 hours!” Ecbert falls to his knees dramatically, looking up at them.

“Thank you, both, FINALLY for getting it right,” he says exasperated, but relieved.

 They look at Ecbert nervously, like two teenagers caught in their parents’ bed. “Are we good now?” Ragnar asks tersely, not daring to look at Lagertha.

“Yes, yes. Go home. We’ve got a 6 a.m. call tomorrow and it’s already 1 in the morning.” He’s already walking off the set, thrilled with what he just captured. True intimacy. Real and tangible. Erotic. It’s not quite what he wrote—it’s a thousand times better.

Ragnar and Lagertha go their separate ways and once secured and alone in his dressing room, Ragnar runs cold water over his face.

Shit. Damn. Fuck. Hell.

They’ve got to do something. Because what just happened, what was about to happen…that cannot happen again. At least…not in the way it damn near did.

.

.

He comes to her bedroom that night.

Lagertha moves over to make room f and he settles in.

“We need to talk about what happened tonight. In fact, we have a lot to discuss. So, where would you like to start?” He says, sitting up and bringing her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her in a hug.  Lagertha shifts her legs under the blankets.

“So upfront. This, from the same guy who said he hated awkward conversations.”

“With you they’re no longer awkward. They’re important. Needed. So let’s talk.”  His hands gently rub her stomach.  “Ask your first question.” He can tell she’s uncomfortable.

Lagertha closes her eyes and traces their many conversations and confessions and settles on one she hasn’t yet gotten a clear answer for.  “You…were married?”

“…Yes.”

“To Aslaug?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“First, she lied to me and then she cheated on me,” he pauses, torn between full truth and partial truth. There’s a widening gulf between what he wants and what is right, and he stiffens a bit, trying to figure out which side he’s going to fall on. Never has he wanted a woman so much…but the truth, he thinks, will doom him.

Lagertha feel his body tense as he squeezes her hard. “Tell me…please?”

“I shouldn’t have gotten married. I thought it was the right thing to do at the time, and it didn’t end well.” It’s sort of the truth. It’s really all he can bring himself to say, because thinking of the rest of it hurts too much.

Lagertha can tell, and she lets it go. “It’s okay, you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

He laughs ruefully. “I wasn’t the best boyfriend, but I tried to be a good husband. It didn’t work. I think in the end, she wanted to kill me.” Ragnar rests his chin on her shoulder as he speaks. “You were married too. Your husband, Kalf…he was your second?”

 “Yes.”

“You said he wasn’t very nice …Tell me what he did.” Ragnar’s voice is low and it’s her turn to hesitate. But they’re trying to be honest. And so she closes her eyes and starts talking quietly.

“When we were dating I thought he was trying to take care of me, that it was normal. When we got married I thought it would be different…but it only got worse.  Kalf made it very clear there were certain things I wasn’t allowed to do. I couldn’t cook. I couldn’t clean—he said we had help for that. He wanted a certain kind of wife and tried to dictate how I dressed, even how I acted in public.  I refused to comply and we fought constantly.”

“Did he--?”

She shakes her head. “If he ever laid a hand on me, one of us would be in prison. No, that’s not Kalf’s style.”

“Did that control carry over into other…areas?” Ragnar asks quietly. She nods.

“It was always his way. And only when _he_ wanted it, not when I did. When I tried…he told me I was trying to be a man… and that he didn’t marry a man. Kalf didn’t care about me. Only himself. I was his trophy wife and he had other women for everything else. He never loved me, he was just in love with the _idea_ of me. But I guess the idea in his head didn’t match up with what he got.”  At that Lagertha laughs ruefully remembering the last fight they had once she served him divorce papers.

Kalf had been so pissed off, trying to intimidate her into staying. “I made you, and I can break you.” She’d just looked at him, laughing in his face. “Try it and see how far you get,” she’d said. “I know your secrets, and I know your lies. You ruin me, I’ll do the same to you.”

What she’s telling Ragnar now is something she’s never told anyone. Not even her mother. Caroline loved Kalf, thought he was perfect and she’s been upset about the divorce since it happened. Lagertha’s barely spoken to her mother in months and she knows Kalf still does.

Ragnar is trying to make sense of it. He’d expected to hear her ex-husband was an asshole, or that he cheated on her or something like that. He’d braced himself to hear that he was abusive…But he never imaged he would hear this. What Kalf had done was…almost worse. Her ex had tried to deprive her of her sexuality and her sensuality. And it explains much about why Lagertha is guarded, why she hesitates, why she sometimes pushes him away. She was with that ass for five years. And never once did he give her anything.

Ragnar kisses her shoulder, seeing everything clearly now.

“You’ve never had sex before.” It’s a statement, not a rhetorical question, but she gets defensive.

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t, Lags,” it’s gentle. Not judging. He’s nog going to argue with her, either. But Ragnar already knows the answer to his next question. They’ve been together long enough that he can tell. “Have you ever had an orgasm?”

She shakes her head, mutely.

“Not even one you did yourself?”

“No. I…can’t.” It’s quiet. This is what she’s been trying to keep him from finding out. From learning. But now he knows, and she waits to see what he’ll do, how he’ll respond. She’s bracing for the worst. But his response is not what she expects.

Ragnar shifts behind her, still keeping her against him. He’s not letting go, not for anything.

“You’re not broken, love. Trust me, I can tell.  There’s nothing wrong with you for feeling, or wanting or needing. But speaking as a man, I will tell you that there’s something VERY wrong with your ex-husband,” he says, reaching down between her legs to touch her there, his mouth on her neck. She tenses.

“Don’t do that. You’re trying to resist being turned on, but you are. Remember, I can feel you. Hold on to it,” Ragnar’s lips are still on her neck, but he’s staying still until she directs him, moving only his fingers.

“I like it when you do that,” she whispers. One hand moves up to her breasts, fondling them.

She arches back at the sensation opening a little more, enough for him to slide a finger in. He knows she likes this, and he’s done it twice now but she hasn’t come. Not enough time. Not enough attention. But they’re in no rush. He uses his thumb to stimulate her as she moans and trembles in his arms. He takes his time, quickly realizing that while she’s liking it, the way her hands grip his thighs and her fingernails dig into his skin are letting him know she is in need of more. He tries another finger but she gasps and pulls back, shaking her head.

 “Do you want me to kiss it, and make it better, love?”

When Lagertha closes her eyes she recalls the way Ragnar’s mouth felt where his fingers are, and nods.

 “Tell me,” he says, the words muffled against her neck.

“Yes.” It’s a faint breath.

He releases her, and she shudders at the loss. Ragnar stands and takes off his shirt before reaching for her, pulling her by the hips to the edge of the bed, and kneeling down on the floor.

The panties are cast aside and he uses his hands to spread her legs wide. It makes her feel vulernable and she tries to close them, but Ragnar is blocking her with his arms, and all she can see when she looks down is his head between her thighs. When his tongue hits her clit, it makes her whole body convulse and she is not prepared when Ragnar starts to suck on her. The trembles begin immediately and she squirms, trying to back away from him just a little to tamp down on the sensations—it’s way too much, too fast…but he’s holding her, and he pulls her closer forcefully, wrapping his arms around her waist to pin her into position, her legs bent at a 90 degree angle in the air and parted.  She watches his head move up and down and when he sticks his tongue inside her she cries out, grasping his hair and trying again to push him away. Her thighs are shaking and she’s moaning aloud now, her hips rising up to meet his mouth as he works her.

 It feels so good, almost too good…like a slow fire spreading throughout her… and soon she starts moving with him…wanting—no, _needing_ more. She’s full. So very full and all of this is new…what’s happening inside her is new, and it’s overpowering to the point that she just wants to cry as her body starts shaking all over.

“Please…” It comes out as a choked sob, and he can feel her release coming, he can taste it. Ragnar is singularly focused on bringing her to orgasm. He wants to be the first to do it, to lay claim. To mark what is his. He knows she didn’t come the other night, and now he knows why, and he’s determined to fix that. Because she’s NOT broken and he’s hellbent on reversing the damage her ex-husband did.

He moans against her hood, feeling himself harden in his pants.

The intensity builds inside of her until she can’t contain it anymore and it’s like an explosion—a sensory overload as she arches up completely off the bed and starts pulling away. He follows her, keeping his mouth on her spot as she cries out in passion and breaks free of his grip, intense heat and pulsating pleasure radiating down her body…

 There’s a wet spot on the covers.

Lagertha’s still breathing hard, shuddering, having not yet come down from her orgasm. She’s more open in this moment than he’s ever seen her. And whatever hesitation he may have felt over how far to go disappears. Ragnar takes off his pants before coming to rest on top of her, parting her legs with his, determined to finish this. But before he can, her wide eyes meet his and she and she shakes her head ‘no.’

Ragnar can see her hesitation and he knows exactly what it means.

“I’m scared too,” he tells her. “But I’m not going anywhere. I want you. I want to be with you, only.”

It’s commitment. That thing he’s never done. But he wants her more than he’s wanted anything in his life because she has loved him and accepted him, flaws and baggage too. He committed to her when he jumped out that airplane.

Ragnar lowers his head to put kisses on her shoulder.  “Let me love you.”

She relaxes just a bit, and her arms wrap around his shoulders and in these actions is her reply. A shift of bodies, and he drops his hips to find her. When he gets the head in he hears her quick draw of breath, and sees her wince, her body tightening again.

“It hurts.” A whisper. She doesn’t really remember Chris, but she remembers Kalf…and he wasn’t as thick…

He uses his mouth as a distraction from what he’s doing in other places. Gradually, it begins to work and she relaxes enough to allow him entry. He goes in slowly, gently until he’s about halfway there. Still, she whimpers, and it’s all he’s willing to try at the moment. But it’s more than enough. Her pelvic muscles clench around him and he has to stop before she forces him to lose it too soon. She’s hotter and wetter and tighter than anything he’s ever felt before. It’s been way too long for both of them.

When he restarts it’s slow and he takes his time, feeling her grip every ridge, and he can feel all of hers too… they go slow. There’s no rush here, and he takes charge of her pleasure. He’s already given her one, and he wants to give her another.

She buries her face inbetween his shoulder and neck. This is what she’d thought her first time would have been like…what she’d expected years ago and had been so disappointed by. What he’s doing to her body makes her feel like that girl again—that 18 year old full of hope and excitement…it hurt…but now, not so much. Her body relents under his attention. And whatever discomfort starts to recede as something else…something new begins to take over, and gasps of pain transform into quiet moans of pleasure…

Her legs run down the backs of his thighs he picks up the pace, encouraged by the sounds she’s making, and soon, they’re going a bit faster. He groans into her mouth as her walls close in. In his excitement, he goes a little too deep—and she cries out in pain.  The sound tempers his movements and he kisses her wherever her can. On her neck, her face, her shoulder her forehead…anywhere and everywhere, because he wants the touch, the physical contact. The intimacy. Never has he felt so close to another human being.

It’s getting extremely hot in the room…humid….

 _“Please…”_ It’s her turn to ask, as her hands grab his ass, urging him forward, and he starts again, taking his time, drawing out long and slow...He groans aloud as they start to move together. This sort of muscle control he’s never felt before…

There’s no possible way Lagertha could understand what she’s doing to him, what her body is doing to his right now…he just wants to sink in as deep as he can go and stay there, live there, make a home for himself inside her.

 _“Ragnar…”_ There’s yearning in her voice and he gives her what she wants, gradually intensifying it…The bed begins to squeak in tandem to the movements of their bodies, the slow rhythm growing more urgent and intense by the second…

 Until it’s a cacophony that begins to ring past their closed doors into other areas of the house.

They’re sweating.

Soon Lagertha is crying his name and Gods name over and over again until Ragnar starts to believe _he_ is God…and when she clenches around him again and rake her finger nails down his back he can’t help but to cry out too. It hurts soo good.

It unleashes the flood.

Everything he’s been trying _not_ to say starts flowing from his mouth as he makes love to her. He tells her how much he loves her, that he’s in love with her, wants her, that she’s beautiful and perfect and that he will never hurt her…that he wants them to be together, stay together, love together and make love forever…

It’s throwing more fuel on an already scorching fire that’s threatening to engulf them both. He wraps his arms around her lower back and her legs wrap around his waist as he raises their bodies from the bed, and walks them over to the wall, planting her back against it for a different kind of penetration. More intense.

Lagertha has tears streaming down her face, and her moans are plaintive and pleading and lustful and it’s like a shot of whiskey strait to both his brains. It releases something primal and possessive in him and he pushes her hips down and raises his to go deeper into her until she screams from the stretch. But now she’s begging him _not_ to stop. And he won’t. Not until he’s erased her ex-husband and plants himself firmly in his place.  

This release is long overdue.

 They’ve been teasing each other forever, building up a well of lust and other things that is finally spilling over…she’s so wet its flowing and he can feel her walls contracting, the beginnings of another orgasm he doesn’t have enough time to brace himself for before it hits them simultaneously. She’s trapped him inside her—he cannot move as he starts to come from the sudden force of energy and release that has sent a spasm down his entire body and made his head jerks back. It’s his turn to yell out again and say her name from the sheer force of it.

Lagertha’s arms are tight around his shoulders and she’s clinging to him as if he were a raft in a raging river. Her body is quivering and she’s so overwhelmed all she can do is cry heavy choked sobs as waves of pleasure and passion and _feeling_ flow over her.

Ragnar comes down first, feeling weak. He manages to hold her as he stumbles to the edge of the bed and sits dazedly. It takes him a moment to collect himself as he rests his head on her shoulder breathing hard, heart racing. He’s still inside her, and she’s on his lap, her sex trembling and clenching all around him.

She moans again, eyes closed, and he knows for certain that yes, he is making her feel like this. So he doesn’t move. And it’s a test of will and strength.

Once he’s recovered a bit, he lays back, bringing her down to his chest to hold her.

Heaven help them both…

Lagertha’s eyes are closed and her breathing uneven as she grinds on him, still erect, but starting to fade. Her movements urgent and he tries to still her but can’t. It’s involuntary. She shudders and moans softly; the beginning of another climax…for what must be the third time.

Ragnar’s drained, but he pulls out and puts his hand between her legs and inserts two fingers, moving them in tandem to her cries and working to get her off completely.

This time when he does, she shouts, head back—a cry of passion, not pain-- and he knows as he encounters the resistance around his fingers, that this is something special.

 It’s a head rush. Like dying and being reborn a new man. Never has he encountered this.

As she floats down, her sobs become soft sniffles mixed with quiet whimpers and she comes to lay on his chest. He removes his hand and licks his fingers tasting the result of their lovemaking. Her sex. His sex. Their sex.  Gently, he adjusts them both to lay down so he can rest her body against his as her breathing starts to slow.

They’re floating somewhere in between sleep and wake. Lagertha passes over quickly. Exhausted, Ragnar follows.

The blinking red digital clock on the dresser reads the time. 3:46 a.m.

They have to be back on set in two hours and 14 minutes.

 


	17. July Part 3

**July Part 3**

Lagertha is giving it her best, but she’s so damn tired and sore.  There’s a sting between her legs when she sits and so she’s walking around the set gingerly between breaks. The cast is in the middle of a major battle scene and they’re outside in the mud, and it’s cold and wet and raining. She’s sure she looks like hell and everyone else does too.

Today is _not_ the day.

But she soldiers up and endures it, fighting the urge to just sleep. When Ecbert yells “action” they go: swords and shields, and yelling—it’s a fight to the death and they’re all pushing and shoving, and clashing together. She goes through the choreography: duck-jab-thrust, two steps back two steps forward, thrust-thrust-jab, and finally, after hours of this, they get to wrap. She just wants to go home and get into her own bath, and a bed. She’s barely seen Ragnar all day—he’s been placed further away from her in the scene. After a quick shower to just wash the dirt off, she slips into the waiting Uber and it carries her home where she can take a REAL shower. Long, and hot. Thank God it’s the weekend. Finally.

She’s washing her hair when the curtain is pulled back and Ragnar step in, standing behind her. She can feel his desire pressed against her as he walks her up against the wall and spreads her legs. There is soreness from the night before and she winces when he enters her, stretching her wide again. The warm water beats down on them.

He sees her discomfort and stops.

“No?”

“Yes,” she exhales reaching back to touch the back of his thigh to make him continue. He does, taking her hands in his and raising them, bracing them against the shower wall too. His thrusts are careful, slow and gentle, and the movement begins to feel like some sort of good torture.  When he pulls out and begins to rub it against her clit, the sensation makes her tremble and whimper for him again and when he goes back in and increases the pace, it triggers an intense orgasm that tears a scream from her lips. She’s already caught in the pleasure wave when he follows her, groaning her name in her ear.

After a few minutes they exit the shower and he dries her off and puts her into bed before drying himself and coming to lay next to her, his face buried in her wet hair. They’re breathing is in sync, and his arms are wrapped around her body and she’s spooned against him. He likes to be close like this. She’s warm and soft and smells like flowers.  

“I didn’t mean to hurt you last night.”

“What makes you think you hurt me?”

“You looked like you were in pain today.”

“Only the good kind.”

Their voices are raspy from overuse. Last night…today in filming…Just now…Ragnar’s lips find her arm, her shoulder, her neck. Her ear. The whiskers from his beard tickle against her skin.

 “No regrets?” He asks, sitting up slightly to look at her. She rolls over and reaches up to bring him in for a long, slow kiss.

“No regrets.”    

They’re both tired. Working off a 16 hour day with two hours of sleep isn’t good. They’re worn out, and for the moment, sexed out.

She burrows closer seeking his warmth.

“What do you want for your future?”  He wants to know, wants to see where her head is at. See if she’s as compatible with him as he thinks she is. They’re both high off oxytocin, and other post-coital endorphins. Lagertha turns around to face him, bleary eyed and defenseless.

“I want a family. It’s just me and my mom. I want a man who I love and who loves me. It doesn’t have to be equal, but it does have to be equitable. I want to have babies…I was an only child, and I grew up by myself.  I know there’s no such thing as perfection, but I want my relationship to be real, and I want it to be honest. I’m tired of being used and lied to.”

It’s a simple answer. But just because it’s simple, doesn’t mean it’s easy. They both know that it’s not.  

“What about you?” She gives him the same question.

“I want to go _home_.”

 When it comes out, he hears the yearning in his own voice.

“I want my farm. It’s what I love. It’s why I do acting. I don’t enjoy it, but I work hard at it--I put up with the shit I hate so I can eventually do the stuff I love. I want a family and a marriage like the one my parents have—honest and trusting. Imperfect but strong.  I want to get married again and this time I want someone who can love me as I am,” he quiets, choosing his next words carefully.

“I really want kids. I love children. I want to teach them, love them, train them, and watch them grow. I want to be a good father. I want the chance to at least… _try_.” His voice catches on the word.

_Ivar._

The last part is deeply personal. Aslaug took that away from him.

Ragnar doesn’t dream of action, or of being rich and famous. He just wants to go back and be simple. Be a farmer. But he’s learned he can’t go back the same way he came. It’s gotten complicated and messy along the way.

He pulls Lagertha a little closer, inhaling the scent of her hair. Her skin. She smells like him, and he wants to hold on to this. What they have right now, because it’s everything that he wants and he recognizes how dangerous his own position has become.

He should have been man enough to tell her the truth. Tell her everything. Now he can’t. It’s too late.

Only now does he realize the depths of Aslaug’s fuckery. Her retribution for sins against her he didn’t know he committed until it was too late. She has messed with his head, and she continues to stab at his heart. But at some point, it has to stop.

He’d been going, going, going for years, the women mostly nameless, faceless.

Aslaug, for better or worse, had slowed him down. He grew more careful after her. More deliberative. But Lagertha has brought him to a full stop. She has calmed his restlessness, soothed his agitation. She has touched him, forced from his mouth words he has held in for so long…his desires to be with her, be there for her.

He has fucked _a lot_ of women.

Had sex with some of them.

But the past two nights are first time he’s ever made love.

He’s never been in love before. His mother said he’d know it when it happened.

His parents have been married 35 years and counting.  Both of his brothers are married with children and he has craved that kind of bond, that kind of companionship—the understanding and the intimacy. All these years he’s searched for his partner, his friend…his soulmate.  He knows he’s found her. And he will do anything to keep Lagertha.

 _Anything_.

Yes, he was shattered when they met, but she managed to patch him together. Her love is like duct tape. Strong as hell.

“You asked me once, why my body count was so high…” he whispers as they lay together.

She moves a bit to look at him.  Her fingers go to his lips, his nose, his eyes, traces his eyebrows, his cheeks, and his chin. It’s a soft touch, full of love. It’s a warm touch, welcoming, and it makes him feel like he’s home already.

 “I was searching for you,” he whispers starting into her eyes.

“I love you.”

Lips meet.

The only other woman he’s ever said those words to is his mother.

It’s July 29th.  The night Ragnar admits he’s in love.


	18. July Part 4

The place beside her is empty and cold by the time she rolls out of her bed and grabs one of his t-shirts from her dresser. Their clothes are now split between two rooms. She puts it on and inhales the faint scent of Irish Spring soap that still lingers—a smell she loves. His smell. There’s another scent that hits her as she begins to move around, and this one makes her mouth water.

Pancakes.

 She’s starving. It feels like the kind of hunger that hits after an intense workout. And…what a workout…A two-year drought ended by a tsunami.

Siggy’s in the kitchen cooking away when Lagertha walks in slowly.

“Well, you’re finally awake, might as well eat,” Siggy says taking down a plate and putting two pancakes in front of Lagertha  before sliding two more onto a plate for herself.

“Where are the guys?”

“Athelstan went to the gym, and Ragnar was gone before I woke up,” Siggy says, leaning into the refrigerator and emerging triumphantly with orange juice in one hand and champagne in another.

“Morning mimosa?”

Lagertha nods and Siggy pours.

They eat.

“Mmmm…. So good,” Lagertha moans the pancakes literally melting in her mouth along with the syrup and the butter.

“Thanks. It’s Athelstan’s grandmother’s recipe. A touch of buttermilk and some flour.”

“Tell her I am eternally grateful. I’m starving,” Lagertha says, forking over still more.

 “I bet you are,” Siggy smirks.

She quickly downs her mimosa but a tiny smile gives her away.

Siggy laughs maniacally. “I’m pretty sure by now even the neighbors know your names.”

“We weren’t that loud!”

“Pshht. Please. Shall I repeat everything I heard? And I’m the furthest away from you. Poor Athelstan had to suffer through it by himself. I take it the sex is good. Worth the wait?”

She just nods and keeps eating.

“Oh you’ve _got_ to do better than that! I want ALL the dirty details. Spill. Right now. Cause to me, it sounds like Ragnar fucks like a _beast.”_

Lagertha starts choking on her mimosa, and Siggy pats her on the back quickly.

“We weren’t fucking.”

“Oh shut up and stop playing prude. I want length, girth, weight—clipped or unclipped? Tongue stats, or no tongue? I _know_ you’ve seen he can touch his nose with it—OW!!” Siggy is grasping her cheek, glaring at the woman who has just decked her with a couch pillow.

“Will you _please_ stop!” Lagertha says, but she’s laughing, and Siggy is too. They hug.

“I’m happy for you. I like Ragnar. We all like Ragnar. You two look great together. And it’s clear he’s totally into you—you made the poor man wait forever. Impressive.”

“It just didn’t feel right before,” Lagertha says.

“Well, I’m sure it’s feeling all right now, ain’t it?” Siggy’s smirk is back. And this time Lagertha gives her one in return.  

“I’m…really sore,” she confides crossing her legs. Ragnar touched places she hadn’t even known existed. Last night may have been overkill. Yesterday morning was more discomfort, but this morning it’s been way more intense. Likely a little tear.

Siggy’s eyes go wide and she squeals. “Ooohhhh….No wonder you’re walking funny!”

“Siggy!!!!”

But there’s no stopping her now. “Sex like that can get you knocked up, you know. Trust me, it’s been scientifically proven. I read about it in a book by this doctor—Julie Holland. ‘Moody Bitches’. She says  the stronger your orgasm the more likely you are to get pregnant. Oh! That would be so cute though! Little Ragertha’s running around!”

Siggy ends up having to duck another flying pillow, and the two collapse in laughter. But her friend’s words do serve as a reminder…Lagertha disappears into her room and when she comes out she’s dressed, car keys in hand.

“Where are you going?” Siggy asks.

“I need to make a…run,” Lagertha tells her. When she comes back in with the CVS bag a few minutes later, Siggy looks at it--seeing the green and purple box through the transluscent bag--then at Lagertha, and starts laughing all over again.

“Hope you got condoms, too!” She calls down the hall to the sound of a door slamming.

About damn time.

.

.

He has been at the attorney’s office for more than two hours and Ragnar is so angry he just wants to punch something. Or rather, someone. But he was raised right, and he’d never hit a woman. Not even one who is a complete and total bitch.

Aslaug.

He’d tried to do the right thing by marrying her because she was pregnant. By _accident_. Fuck his feelings. Fuck his thoughts.  She’d trapped him. _Lied_ about being on birth control and she caught him at a weak moment. They weren’t even dating, just fucking around.

She’s hated him from the beginning, told him to his face she didn’t want him, or love him—that he was a failure—and yet she WILL. NOT. SIGN. THE. PAPERWORK.

It’s been his private hell a year-and-a-half now and Ragnar knows she’s doing it just to make him suffer, to try to break him. He’s not seen Ivar physically since he was born and all he wants is to see his son. The face time wasn’t nearly enough…and that was months ago. It’s July.

“I’m sorry Mr. Lothbrok,” his attorney tells him through the speaker system on the table.  “But if she doesn’t sign the papers, you’ll still have to continue waiting for a trial. Are you sure you want to keep pushing this?”

It always comes down to this. Her lawyers filing motion after motion for delay. Ragnar snaps as he goes to leave. “ _Yes_ , I want to keep fucking pushing. Just let me know if anything else happens.” He hangs up the speaker on his way out the door, but the other attorney in the office calls him back.

“There is one more thing. Given you’re work on the show…Aslaug is asking for an increase in child support. Um…” the attorney present shifts through some papers and pulls one out.

“Here.”

Ragnar looks at the figure, crumples it up, and throws it in the trash can. First came the temporary custody that’s becoming not so temporary.

Next came the child support.

Now, an increase. And he knows the money isn’t being used for Ivar. His farm just got much further away. And so has a future with Lagertha. At this stage, he can barely afford his own rent.

When he gets outside, he inhales deep and exhales slowly, trying hard to calm down. It was easier, before he found Lagertha, to deal with his wife and her bullshit. But now, it’s fucking intolerable. He despises Aslaug Sigurdsdottir.  

Instead of hailing a car Ragnar chooses to walk home instead, hoping the time will clear his head. As he goes, he passes a jewelry store and something in the window catches his eye.

It’s large, and yellow, and it sparkles. Pear shaped. It’s different. The color of Lagertha’s hair. He goes inside.

“I want that,” he tells the salesman already pulling out his wallet and not even bothering to ask the price. He’d rather spend what little money he has left on this, than give his _wife_ another fucking dime.

 It’s the most expensive thing he’s ever bought—worth more than all of his possessions put together. His salary for months of work. Ragnar takes the ring, not bothering with a bag, and puts it in his pocket. Even if Aslaug ends up getting all his money and his condo there’s at least one thing she _won’t_ get in the divorce. 

At least he never bought _her_ a ring.


	19. August Part 1

**August**

 ‘Girlfriend and boyfriend’ don’t fit. It’s too juvenile for what they are to each other. ‘Partner’ is too generic. ‘Friend’ doesn’t capture it completely and ‘lover’ is close…but not quite. More than friends. More than lovers…

She wants to learn. To study under, over and on top of him. He’s her teacher. And her, his star pupil.

He knows what she is to him…his life.

His wife.

But he can’t call her that…he can’t even ask it of her.  

There has to be another way, because he’s not giving Lagertha up. And as he dwells on it, he knows, with certainty, what the other way is. She may not be able to be his wife…but he knows _exactly_ how to keep her in his life.

.

.

_Valdemar rises shakily to his feet, squinting into the sunlight. There are dead bodies all around them._

_“Shreya!” He calls. “Shreya!” Something—no, someone comes stumbling up toward him. Shreya. She’s bloodied and limping, axe still in hand, and he imagines he must look exactly the same. But he’s relieved to see his wife still standing. She wraps her arms around his neck and he pulls her close, holding her. By the grace of the gods, they have survived this incursion. And while they’ve lost many warriors, something miraculous has also come to pass. The earl is dead._

_And Valdemar and Shreya will claim his territories, and rule together, husband-and-wife, side-by-side_.

_Lenninok is nervous on the voyage home. When they had departed, Ammala was soon to give birth. He is worried about what he will find when the boats dock._

_“Are you prepared, my friend?” Valdemar says, laying a hand on his shoulder and interrupting his thoughts. They are standing in the stern, staring out over the sea._

_“I do not know if one can ever be prepared for such a moment,” he says. The shores of their home rise in the distance, and he grows more anxious._

_“Lenninok, Shreya, Valdemar. You have come right on time. She is almost ready.” The mid-wife has come to meet them at the docks, and they go with her._

_They arrive right as Ammala has started to push. Shreya and Valdemar stay outside as Lenninok goes to his wife’s side._

_“My wife, I am here,” he says holding on to her hand as she struggles._

_Ammala’s screams are loud, they tear across the room and Valdemar holds Shreya tightly in his arms as they wait. Soon, there is a final scream, and then silence, and then a cry…the sound of a child. They wait a while longer and soon, Lenninok emerges with an infant in his arms._

_“We have had a son,” he says proudly, displaying the baby to them._

_Shreya fingers the child, her hand on his little ones, and Valdemar looks down in wonder. They look at each other._

 

Athelstan looks down at Siggy, baby in her arms.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells her. She looks up at him, and for a moment, they both feel the wistfulness. The feeling is so familiar, so intense. She tears up, rocking the infant in her arms as Athelstan caresses the baby’s face gently with the back of his hand.

“Cut!” Athelstan! Siggy! Congrats on the baby! Great scene. Good emotion. You two delivered!” Ecbert is laughing at his own joke.

Siggy gets up from the floor dusting herself off, quickly brushing off the moment. Ragnar has taken the baby and is now holding it, cooing and making faces at the little girl. The child is laughing and putting her hands all over his face and pulling his hair. He doesn’t mind, really. It feels nice. And he likes babies, they like him too.

“I can’t believe that baby spit up and shit all over me and she’s going all innocent for you,” Siggy huffs, looking at him.

Ragnar shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

The baby’s mother comes up to them.

“Can I get a picture with you guys?”

They all squeeze in for the shot—Ragnar/Valdemar with the baby in his arms, Siggy/Ammala still covered in fake blood, Athelstan/Lenninok, and Lagertha/Shreya.

“Thank you!” The mom reaches for the child and Ragnar tries to hand her back, but the little girl starts to cry. Lagertha laughs. “I think she’s gotten attached. Already she’s got great taste in men.”

“ _I_ think its sleepy time,” the mother says. She bounces the baby a bit, but the infant cries even more. He's never been able to handle the cries of babies and after a moment, Ragnar breaks in. “May I?” He asks reaching out his arms.

She looks at him and gives the baby back, and Ragnar starts walking around the set, the child on his shoulder. He’s rubbing her back, whispering to her and they watch as the little one slowly begins to fall asleep.

“Damn, he’s a baby whisperer,” Athelstan says, marveling at the feat.

 Siggy notices and looks at Lagertha who is looking at Ragnar and smiling. He turns around and sees them all watching. The baby is now fully asleep and he shifts a bit, bringing her down into the crook of his arm and giving her back to her mother.

It’s a new side of Ragnar, one that Lagertha hasn’t seen before. And it’s sweet. Endearing. He looks so comfortable. And the care he takes with the child makes her feel he’s done this before. He’s a natural.

“I’ve got three nephews,” he says, coming to kiss Lagertha on the cheek, before heading back to wardrobe, “lots of diapers, lots of tears, lots of naps.”

She flushes a bit, feeling something stir inside her.

“ _Don’t_ even think about it,” Siggy hisses, knowing all too well what her friend is thinking. 


	20. August Part 2

Eight months of work and it’s finally done. The last episode of the first season has wrapped, and soon they’ll be heading stateside to begin a litany of media tours, panels, and talk shows the producers have lined up for them. Ragnar’s not looking forward to being in the public eye.  But for many of the engagements, at least Lagertha will be there with him. And so will Athelstan and Siggy.

It’s also awards season and nomination time and the press jaunt is mandatory, part of the contract he signed when he accepted the role. And speaking of the role—at least there is some good news. “The Shield-maiden’s Tale” has been renewed for another season. That’s something the entire cat can drink to--they’re still employed.

The party is going strong at Ecbert’s house as Ragnar and Lagertha sit comfortably together, side-by-side with Athelstan and Siggy in a back room. There’s a large screen playing some hardcore porn flick on mute, and the music from elsewhere in the house floods in.

Largely secluded, he takes the time to slip his hand under her skirt, and make his way up between her legs. He can, because she’s his. And it’s what he wants. She is what he wants. Lagertha climbs on his lap to give him easier access.

“Do you enjoy this?” She whispers in his ear, her tongue licking the base of his neck. He reaches around to take another swig of beer. “What part?” He kisses her, letting her taste it. The short answer is yes. He does enjoy it. And he would enjoy it even more if she were naked. In fact…maybe now is a good time to let her know exactly what all he enjoys…

“We should go home,” he tells her, the idea already beginning to form. He looks up at the screen and then over to Athelstan and Siggy, doing their own thing.

Lagertha slides off him and grabs his hands, pulling him off the couch. They cast a sidelong look at their friends but those two are pretty much preoccupied. She hails the Uber, and they bid their goodbyes to Ecbert, and go home.

He’s on her in the car, pushing her against the door to give him room enough to go down. The driver is sneaking looks in the rear view mirror trying not to crash. Ragnar smirks at the poor man as they exit, and as soon as the door to their home closes again, she unzips his pants and he picks her up, her legs wrapping around him as he walks them to his room. She’s biting her bottom lip, waiting as they settle on his bed, she on his lap. Ragnar reaches around her to grab the remote and turn on the TV—it lights up, playing something she hasn’t seen before. Her eyes go wide and the very adult movie on screen.

“Ragnar!” He grins at her, predatory, and dirty-- full of mischievousness.

“What?”

She’s looking at him with an expression of half embarrassment, half arousal. He snickers, bouncing her gently on his lap.

“Interested?”

Lagertha is blushing into his shoulder. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Are you serious?” She’s trying to figure out what to make of what he’s asking her to let him do.

“Very serious. I love you. You haven’t figured that out by now?”

She has…but maybe not quite the extent of it.

“If it makes you nervous I won’t do it,” he tells her, tilting her back a bit to kiss between her breasts. He knows by now where to touch her. Where to put his mouth to get what he wants. “But…I love all of you. And I want to taste all of you.”

It works as she gives him a breathless “okay”.

So he does. And he does it very well. He rolls her over onto her stomach, sliding her back so that her feet are on the floor as he spreads her legs. She gasps in surprise when she feels where his tongue goes. It makes her tense, but he keeps going, and when he resurfaces, dragging his tongue up her spine, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“You taste good back there.”

“Now I see where you’re inspiration comes from.” They change positions as she scoots up onto the bed, and he comes to lay against her back. Her hips lift enough to let him slide between her thighs, and their hands lock together as he thrusts inside her, breathing against her ear.

“Froggy style.”

She laughs. Laughter quickly gives way to pants as Ragnar groans. “I love the _feel_ of it, the heat of it…I swear could die here…”

It hits them both simultaneously. And they both cry out to God.

“Funny… I thought you said you were agnostic,” she tells him afterward.

“Huh?”

Lagertha just smiles.

“Did I really make you nervous?”  He’s got his arms around her and she’s laying on him, using him as a body pillow.

“Yes… That was…a first.”

“Mine too. I liked it,” his lips are on her again. “I want a lot of firsts with you…”

“Are you always so damned horny?”

A grin and a laugh. “Yes. But only for you. You haven’t figured that out yet, either?”

She chuckles gently before rolling off to look at him, becoming serious.

“You’re almost…overwhelming.” It’s honest. And she’s speaking to something that’s been niggling at her. Ragnar has given her free reign to…experiment. To explore what she likes and what she doesn’t. He’s been a good teacher. Patient, and loving. “It’s your call,” he’d said. “You’ve got the leash.”

They’re having sex daily, most days multiple times, truthfully, and so far, the only break was when her cycle came but even then…he’d tried to talk her into it. She just couldn’t deal with…that.

 It’s not that she doesn’t like it—she does…but…Lagertha is wondering if he’s enjoying himself as much as she is.

“Too much, too fast?”

She shakes her head, biting her lip, trying to find the words. It’s not that. It’s more like she just wants to be sure...

“Do you want me to stop?” Ragnar is worried. He doesn’t want to stop, and he doesn’t quite understand what the problem is…but he will if she says it.

 “Are you happy?” she whispers to him. “I can tell you’ve been holding back …you don’t have to…not for me.” She kisses on the cheek and strokes his beard. “I want you to be satisfied too.”

“You think I’m not?” His sharp eyes focus in on her.

He’s highly satisfied. Anyone can have sex. But it’s far more meaningful to make love, and he’s done so nearly every day with Lagertha for the past three weeks.

Still, she is correct in her observation. But it’s not because he’s not happy. He just doesn’t want to hurt her physically, nor does he want to scare her away. He still remembers how she’d flinched the first time. And so he’s trying to scale up gradually, to keep certain things close to the chest until…until he thought she could handle it.

“Ragnar…” the way she says his name…He turns to face her, and she can see the uncertainty in his eyes. He’s trying to make a decision about what she’s asking. So, to help him decide faster, she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him against her chest.

 “I want to know what it feels like…what _you_ feel like when you fuck me. _Please_?” Her tongue flicks down the back of his ear, and down his neck.

He rolls them over, coming to rest on top of her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“If I do…tell me to stop.”

“Ragnar.” Lagertha’s looking at him earnestly. “Shut up and fuck me.”

So much for scaling. It’s like kindling to a fire.

He takes the breaks off the car. Hard. Deep. Fast. Rough. Until they slide down the bed and he brings them both to standing and goes back in, bracing their bodies against the wall, one hand wrapped around her neck.

 It’s pure lust and she loves every minute of it. Even when he pushes too deep and makes her scream. She doesn’t want him to stop. It’s the pleasure and the pain. It only works together. They’re loud. Very loud.  They switch positions again, scooting back up on the bed, and he’s got her on her knees, banging her into the mattress, the headboard thumping against the wall...Ragnar accidentally hits his own head but doesn’t feel it—the only thing he feels is her, and his thrusts are powerful, forceful and her mind goes blank.

When they both come—it’s like an earthquake, followed by the crack of lightening…She’s screaming bloody murder and he’s yelling a litany of curses.  They both stop breathing a moment from sheer shock. The room is hot and humid, the bed is a mess, the sheets are on the floor, the mattress half off and wet from their sex and their sweat…and the release is so intense they pass out immediately afterward.

.

.

In the morning is when they realize it wasn’t lightening they heard.

Athelstan and Ragnar have the bed completely disassembled, trying to figure out where it broke. Siggy and Lagertha are watching over their shoulders.

The frame has twisted and has a large crack in the middle of the right side.

“Damn. No saving that.” Athelstan says, getting up off the floor. Ragnar follows.

“So I have to buy a whole new bed.”

“Yup. Sorry babe.” Ragnar kisses Lagertha on the cheek.

“Can you just order a new frame?” Siggy asks, taking a look. Lagertha shakes her head. “Unfortunately it was on clearance. So, no. I got the last one.” It’s a reinforced metal rail, made specifically for her bed.

“Well, guess we’re going shopping,” Siggy loops an arm around Lagertha’s and they walk out the room. “Bye guys!”

Athelstan waits until they leave and turns to Ragnar, whistling low. It’s a deep, thick frame. Not easily broken.

“So…what’s it like?”

Ragnar’s still staring at what’s left of the bed. “Say every curse word at once. And add shots of whiskey to it. Skydive. Be the highest you’ve ever been and try to get higher. It still wouldn’t be enough.”

They laugh and Athelstan gives him a slap on the back.

“Just remember to pull out.”

………silence.

.

.

Siggy is still shaking her head when they pull up to Williams and Sonoma.

“So THAT’S the real Ragnar. I KNEW it!” She says as they start making their way through the aisles. Lagertha’s either sporting the world’s biggest hickey or that’s a handprint around her neck…and Siggy knows a frame doesn’t break from vanilla sex.

“What are you talking about?” Lagertha looks at her and Siggy lifts her chin and motions with her hand. Lagertha takes her hair out of the pony tail, letting it fall around her face and neck.  

“Thanks.”

“Uh huh. So, a savage, amiright?” Siggy’s grin is wide.

Lagertha bites her lip.

She’s NEVER had sex that way before last night. He took her breath away—not because Ragnar was choking her, he wasn’t—it was because what he WAS doing was so far out of her frame of reference it had simply blown her mind. She’d told him to overwhelm her and he did. He told her he’d do whatever she wanted him to do, and he does. She’s got the leash, and she can loosen or tighten it as she pleases.  Last night she let him off the leash.

Siggy snaps her out of her daydream. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Birth Control, duh. I never remembered the pills so I switched to the IUD—lasts for years. You don’t have to remember to check it every day. It’s great.”  

“I’m allergic to most of that stuff.” Lagertha admires a lovely modern couch covered in a soft, silvery gray. Noting the deflection Siggy presses it.

“So what are you using?”

“Umm….”

“HOW many times so far?”

“I’ve lost count.”

“Are you guys using _anything_?”

No answer.

“Is he at least pulling out?”

“hmmm….”

Suddenly, it’s not so cute, or funny. The first time they slipped Lagertha had made a dash for a Plan B. She remembers the look on Lagertha’s face when Ragnar held that damn baby and though she hopes it won’t come to it and that they’ll get a happily ever after, she knows there’s no such thing. Experience has taught Siggy there’s only one way this ends.

Badly.

Been there, done that.

“Look. I get you’re hot for him and I get he’s got your biological clock ticking, but you two just started screwing around! It’s been what, a few weeks?”

Hearing the slightly frantic tone in Siggy’s voice, Lagertha finally speaks.

“Calm down Siggy. Nothing is going to happen. He isn’t going to do anything. I trust him. We’re fine.”

Siggy just stares at her, mouth slightly agape. “Uh…you _do_ _know_ there’s not an ‘on/off’ switch for that, right? This has _nothing_ to do with trust. Do you even _know_ how babies are made?”

Lagertha rolls her eyes. “It’s FINE Siggy. Believe me.”

Siggy doesn’t. It's nowhere near fine. She just stares at Lagertha is disbelief, trying and failing to understand it. The only conclusion she can draw is that Lagertha’s either dick-matized or they’re intentionally trying to screw themselves. She thinks it’s a combination of both.

“He fucked you senseless, didn’t he?”

Lagertha shoots her a vicious look and Siggy settles in a couch crossing her arms in disapproval.

She texts Athelstan.

“On it,” he replies back.


	21. September Part 1

**September**

So far, filming in Canada has insulated them from everything, but Ecbert has been raving about the show’s reception, and from the few interviews they’ve done between scenes, Ragnar and Lagertha know there’s a lot of interest—specifically in them.

There are internet memes with their names splashed across them; she’s skimmed the fanfiction stories written about their characters, and she finds the “RPF” or “real-person-fiction” stories particularly uncomfortable--but Ragnar doesn’t care all that much. “They’re just people being people,” he says shrugging it off. “It’s no big deal. We’re just doing our jobs.”

“Where do we go first?” Lagertha asks her spokeswoman as they pack their suitcases. New York—the Conan O’Brian Show Helga, her agent, tells her through the phone.

Stepping off the plane is like entering an alien land. Neither realized how easily they had slipped into quiet suburban living until they reach baggage claim and are immediately mobbed by reporters, photographers and fans.  She had tried to warn Ragnar about this, but he’d shrugged as he pulled on a faded, thin blue t-shirt with bleach stains, old jeans with holes, and flip flops. “What they see is what they get,” he said that morning. “Besides, you’re dressed up for the both of us.”

She’s wearing a blue, halter top jumpsuit with gold high-heeled gladiator sandals.

Ragnar stays close and they answer questions, pose for photos with the fans and sign autographs. Helga manages to make her way through the throng and guide them out of it.

“Thank you,” Lagertha says gratefully, holding the woman’s hand.

“It’s what you and your mother pay me for. Now, come on you two. We have to be on Conan’s set to start filming at 2.”

They change clothes in the studio, and they’re seated in the green room alone as they wait for the cue.

Ragnar is leaning back in the couch, eyes closed. He looks relaxed but she knows he’d rather be anywhere else but here. He hates interviews. At least now he’s dressed a bit better—pressed dark wash jeans and a fresh black t-shirt. But no amount of negotiation would get him out of the flip flops. Her fingers find his, and he opens his eyes to look at her. Lagertha leans over and brushes her lips against his mouth.

“You know we don’t have to be honest, right?” She says. He smirks “I’m not a liar, though.” They kiss softly.

A producer comes in and they separate. “Okay Ragnar, Lagertha you’re up in 10…9…” he’s counting down as they start walking to the stage.

“3…2…1”

“Ladies and gentlemen from the hit show “The Shield-maiden’s Tale”, Ragnar Lothbrok and Lagertha Lowe!” There’s applause as they wave to the audience and take their seats next to Conan’s desk.

They make light chit chat, or rather, Conan cracks jokes and they laugh politely. Lagertha does most of the talking and Ragnar just nods in silent agreement, sipping from his water bottle and wishing it were something stronger as he counts down the time remaining.

“So, I have a question—the audience has a question,” their host says looking at the crowd. It’s obvious they’re amped.

“A LOT has been written about how you two are pretty much the hottest couple to hit TV since Lucy and Ricky. We want to know… does any of that chemistry carry over to real life?” The audience whoops. Ragnar flashes the barest of smiles.

“Look at her…who wouldn’t at least try?”

 Conan laughs and so does the audience.

“But really, we’re just close friends. I feel like he’s my spirit animal,” Lagertha says, giving Ragnar a light punch on the shoulder and flashing her ‘show’ smile.

“If I’m your spirit animal, what’s mine?” He asks, crossing his eyes at her and sticking out his tongue, touching his nose with it.

“A goat.” She says, tickling him under the chin. He grins at her. It’s cheeky. It also throws fuel on a fire that’s been simmering a while.

Two days later, and they’re in Los Angeles preparing for a panel event. By now Ragnar and Lagertha are being completely swamped. The questions are everywhere—are you, aren’t you? Rumors, more rumors. They dodge. When they see their friends, the relief is evident.

“Finally, more people to take the heat off!” Ragnar says genuinely pleased to see Athelstan.

“Sorry guys, this is a fucking mad house. Look what you’ve done. Congratulations for giving the nation a permanent erection,” Athelstan says with a grin.

There’s a pre-panel yacht party and they board the boat. Ragnar quickly makes a beeline for the bar swiping the bottle of whiskey and trying to head to the stairs that lead up to the upper floor, where more of the cast is gathered. But before he can get there, he’s surrounded by fans.

Siggy, Athelstan and Lagertha watch as he tries, and fails, to escape.

“Are you going to go rescue him?” Siggy asks.

Lagertha smirks. “He _did_ just steal the liquor. He’s got to pay for it somehow.”

Ragnar is presently being forced into pictures. He looks across the throng and sees his friends watching, amusement written on their faces. He catches Lagertha’s eyes and sends her a silent signal. Help.

“Oh, go get him,” Athelstan pipes up. “The man looks miserable.”

She laughs. “Okay. Operation Retriving Ragnar now underway.”

Lagertha enters the throng and comes up behind Ragnar, wrapping her arms around him, her chin on his shoulder.

“Oh my God, it’s Shreya!”

 Now they’re both in the fray.

“Can we get pictures?”

“Only if you promise to release my husband,” she says, playing along.

It’s a deal.

 The two of them smile for a few more pictures, then she takes his hand and pulls him away and up the stairs.

“That’s what you get,” Lagertha says as they reach the top and head out onto the upper deck. There’s a separate bar up here as well.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” She points to the bottle still in his hand as they go over to three large ottomans where Athelstan and Siggy are presently sitting.

“Nope,” he says giving her a kiss on the cheek and pulling her down into his lap as he settles in. “Its the only thing that makes any of this bearable.” After a while, Lagertha dozes off and he gets up to go scouting, the idea half formed, and fueled by the liquor he’s been drinking steadily for the past hour or so.

 When he comes back, he wakes her gently, pulling her up.

“Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.

Siggy nudges Athelstan.  He looks at her, and she darts her eyes toward Ragnar and Lagertha.

Oh yeah.

“Hey Ragnar, I need to hand you something,” he says trying and failing to suppress a smirk as he hands the packages to friend. It’s met with a mean glare. Ragnar wraps an arm around Lagertha’s back and they walk off to a separate set of stairs at the back of the upper deck. They go down a level and into a large room with windows that overlook the bottom deck that’s crowded with people dancing, drinking and partying away.

“I found the observation room,” Ragnar says, locking the doors and coming to stand behind her, pulling her against him.

He lowers his head to kiss her neck.

“I have an idea,” he whispers, walking her to the windows.

She knows he’s interested in more than observing by the way he’s pressed up against her, and by the way his hands are wrapped around her breasts.

“Here?”

“Umm hmm….” It’s muffled against the back of her neck.

“But…someone could _see us_ …”

“That’s what makes it fun.”

Ragnar’s hand slips down to lift the skirt, moving her panties aside as he frees himself.

“Spread you legs for me.” He whispers as he presses into her again, fully ready to go. “Put your hands on the glass.”

She does as he says and Ragnar takes a hand and goes between her legs, his fingers probing. She’s already wet and leans back into is touch.

“What did Athelstan give you?”

“Nothing,” he says, ensuring she’s ready before he goes in.

Lagertha cries out, and starts to moan feeling his entry.

‘Nothing’ is not quite true. He knows she’s allergic to most forms of birth control, except condoms. She told him this.

“Don’t worry, love,” he’d told her when she asked about using protection. “Do you trust me to take care of you?” She had looked so unsure and he’d simply kissed and licked away the uncertainty until she had moaned her consent. “I’ll pull out.”

And he did…the first time.

Athelstan put condoms in his hand. But he’s got no intention of using them. Not now. Not ever.

Ragnar’s going to keep Lagertha. And he’s keeping her the only way he knows how. It’ll happen eventually. He’s been working diligently on it.

.

 

.

Ecbert pops up right as they’re about to go into the session.

“My lovelies!!! He says, managing to wrap his long arms around Siggy, Athelstan, Ragnar and Lagertha.  “This is exciting!”

They look at each other. They love Ecbert, but the producer isn’t exactly known for being discreet. “Don’t worry you two,” Siggy tells them. “We got your backs.”

The panel is starting, and just like all the other times, they walk out with smiles and waves and take their seats. Although it’s a panel with a facilitator, it quickly begins to feel like a grilling.

“So Ragnar, your character Valdemar, he seems really possessive when it comes to Shreya. Does he really love her, or is he more interested in her as an ideal?”

“He really loves her,” Ragnar mumbles into the mic, still drunk off liquor and high off sex.

“Are you insecure?” Someone else asks.

“Isn’t everyone?”

Water glasses appear before them all, and soon they’re laughing and joking and mixing it up with the crowd. Ragnar downs his water and reaches over and takes the cup Lagertha’s been sipping from and downs it too.

“Hey, that was mine!” She punches him lightly on the arm.

Lagertha steals Siggy’s water and tosses it on Ragnar’s head. The crowd cheers. He grins at her and ducks out of her reach before leaning back into the mic.

“That’s okay. She’s stays wet for me.” He gives her a dirty, look. The crowd loves it. It takes a minute for everyone to stop laughing long enough for someone to get in another question.

“What about the relationship between Shreya and Valdemar? You know, there’s THAT scene…” another audience member stands to ask.

 This time Ecbert jumps in.

“Yes!! THAT scene. Let me tell you it took us 13 hours to film it, and we were all exhausted and finally, we just took everyone off set except Ragnar and Lagertha and once it was more private, we sort of stopped the cameras rolling to let them relax, and we turned them back on really quietly when they weren’t paying attention—just letting them do their thing, you know. What you saw was very real. Very erotic…they were just totally caught up and it was beautiful. I loved it.”

The hall goes quiet. Lagertha crosses her legs and turns her head flipping her hair, trying to figure out how to respond. Ragnar slumps a little in his chair, looking blankly out at the crowd.

It’s a slip of the tongue. Or a deliberate set up. Maybe Ecbert doesn’t realize what he’s just said. Or maybe he does.

All hell breaks loose as everyone starts asking questions at once.

“Wait—you’re saying that scene wasn’t staged? Like…that actually happened? Because I remember reading that it almost made the show get an MA rating,” a woman dressed as Shreya stands up from the audience. It’s now really loud.

“Yeah…” someone dressed as Valdemar joins in. “Yeah. That was hot—did that really go down? Hey Ragnar! Did you really go down on her?”

Ragnar spits out his water and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Lagertha nearly chokes on hers.

It’s Siggy who comes in for the save.

“No. No. No. It was TOTALLY staged. The FCC has rules against that. I think what Ecbert is saying is that scenes like that are really tough—again 13 hours of filming. You’re stuck in the same position all day—Ragnar, Lagertha—like, they were exhausted. I watched it and it made _me_ tired! So yeah. It was staged because I think in the end, they just wanted to get it over with.”

 She looks at them, and nudges Lagertha’s foot under the table. Lagertha nods in agreement.

“Yes… I really hate those kind of scenes. They’re really emotionally draining, and it was only my second time so yeah. It was…strange, kind of awkward. Like, no one wants to have their intimate moments filmed by strangers.”

She kicks Ragnar who looks at her and then out at the audience. “We weren’t trying to do anything special.”

It seems to mollify the crowd for the time being.

 More questions are geared toward Siggy and Athelstan.

“Lenninok seems to really love Ammala but there’s a lot of tension between those two. They fight constantly. Is that problematic?” Someone asks.

“Not at all.” Athelstan says, leaning into the mic. “For some of us, the fighting is just foreplay.” It gets a round of applause, and they answer a few more questions before the attention turns back to Lagertha and Ragnar.

“So I’m curious about something,” a guy in a ‘Shieldmaiden’ T-shirt says standing up. “Ragnar if you could pillage anything in real life, what would you pillage first?”

He doesn’t skip a beat.

“Her,” he replies completely deadpan, looking at Lagertha.

 The hall erupts in laughs and cheers. The moderator calls time and they get up, wave and depart.

Afterward they’re backstage, and Ragnar and Lagertha are both staring murder at Ecbert.

“What?” He says. “Oh chill, you two. Really. It’s all for the show. RATINGS, people. RATINGS. This is how you eat. This is how you live.” He brushes them off and goes out to sign autographs.

“I cannot believe he did that,” Siggy says shaking her head.

“Yeah. It was low. You two had better be careful. Ecbert will feed ya’ll to the vultures if he thinks it will boost the ratings and advertising,” Athelstan says.

Thankfully, they’re flying to New York in a few hours. And by nighttime they’re at her Manhattan apartment, spooned together in her bed.

“Ragnar?” He’s kissing the back of her ear.

“mmm?” His lips move to her shoulder blade, and then up to her upper arm, before he rests his chin on her shoulder.

“I think we need to slow down.”

Lagertha knows they’ve been risky. The conversation with Siggy at the furniture store coupled with sex on the yacht made that clear. And now that she stops a moment to consider it, she realizes he hasn’t been pulling out either.

Ragnar answers by shifting their bodies and pulling her on top. She’s straddling him, staring down at his face. He looks exhausted. It’s been a long day.

“I just want something for myself,” she tells him. “Something I don’t have to share with anyone. Let alone the whole world.”

“Well, I’m not sleeping with the whole world,” he says calmly, moving his hips and making her bounce. “Just you. And I plan to keep it that way.”

They kiss gently as she leans down to his chest.

“I think…we should start using something.”

A groan. “But it feels so much better this way. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got you, love. Trust me,” he says kissing her again. And again. And again. Until she forgets what they were talking about as their bodies find their own rhythm.

.

.

They’re about to go for round two when there’s a faint, buzzing sound at the door.

Lagertha moves to get up but Ragnar pulls her back down.

“Ignore it,” he says. “They’ll go away.”

It’s late—close to 1 a.m. The buzzer sounds again. She sighs.

“Expecting anyone?” He asks. She shakes her head and gets up reluctantly, slipping on his shirt and plodding out to the living room. Ragnar rolls out the bed and goes to the bathroom.

She looks at the peep hole and immediately gasps, weighing whether to answer or not. She’s leaning toward not, when the buzzer sounds for a third time. Lagertha braces herself as she opens the door slightly, already becoming angry.

 “What are _you_ doing here?”

She cannot believe he had the nerve to come. The audacity to show his face. Lagertha tries to shut the door, but Kalf blocks it with his foot.

“What? I can’t even come to my former home? See how my ex-wife is doing?” He pushes the door open and strolls in, his dark eyes running up and down her body slowly, taking appraisal.  

Lagertha is dressed in a man’s shirt, hair disheveled, legs bare. He can see the tattoo on her thigh. It wasn’t there when they were married. Must be a new addition.  The collar of the shirt also doesn’t hide the red marks on her neck, her chest.  Kalf crosses his arms, a frown on his face. Caroline had told him she was in town, and he’d come with the intention of just talking to her to see how far he could get. But…as he checks out her legs, he sees more marks on the inside of her thigh. Teeth.

He’s not dumb.

“Get out.” She’s trying to keep her voice low, but her eyes are darting to the room and Kalf’s follow, knowing exactly what’s going on…in the place HE bought, no less.

 “Having a sleepover and you didn’t invite me?”

“That’s none of your business.” she snaps angrily. It makes him grin. He’s always liked to get a rise out of her. She’s sexy when pissed. So he keeps on.

 “So _now_ your legs want to spread like butterfly wings.” He gestures.

Ragnar comes out of the bathroom, hearing two voices-- Lagertha’s and a man’s. He focuses, listening in to the conversation.

_“Legs…part like butterfly wings…”_

It sounds like a problem. He slips on his jeans and walks barefoot out of the room to come up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head, her neck… all the while looking dead at the man standing in front of her.

“Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” Ragnar says not-so-casually. “And you are?” He knows damn well. Lagertha has told him enough about her ex-husband to put two and two together. Kalf.

Kalf looks at him, the smirk fading from his face, and quickly replaced with a scowl.  “And who the fuck are you?” He asks, the answer obvious.

“Your _replacement._ ” Ragnar doesn't miss a beat. 

The two men glare at each other, Lagertha in the middle. Ragnar is still holding her, and she hasn’t moved.

“So, _Ragnar_ …dipping your pen in company ink, huh?” Kalf smiles, his voice dripping in mockery. “You know there’s lots of warnings about that. If I were you…I’d be careful who you choose to be familiar with, given _celebrity_ being what it is, these days.”

Ragnar starts to move, but Lagertha’s hands cover his, staying them. She can feel the fight coming, feel his hands becoming fists and it’s the last thing either of them need at the moment.  

“Don’t,” she whispers turning to face him, raising hands to his chest. “Please.” He just looks at her, a slow, mean smile spreading across his face.

“Only for you, love.” Ragnar tells her, wrapping his arms around her again and grabbing her ass, kissing her hard. There is absolutely no mistaking this point. She’s his, and he’ll be damned if he’s giving her back. Especially not to Kalf.

Lagertha pulls away, looking up at him and knowing exactly what that was about.

They’re all in a standoff, and it has to break. When she turns back around to face her ex-husband her voice is steely.

“Get. Out.”

At that, Kalf’s dark eyes bore into hers. “Happy anniversary, Pussy Willow,” he turns to the door. “Sad to see you slumming, though. If I were you, I’d be careful,” he calls as she shuts the door. “You never know what will be waiting for you in the morning.”

Lagertha retreats to the bedroom and Ragnar follows, watching as she sits on the side of the bed, chewing her bottom lip, leg shaking.

“Anniversary?” Ragnar asks quietly, coming to sit next to her.

“One year since the divorce was final,” she says bitterly.

 “Come here, Lags.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t. Sorry, I’m just…”

She’s shaken, is what she is. And pissed, and worked up and there’s no coming down. Not right now. She’s torn between crying and screaming. It’s been a fucking year, and Kalf would come knocking at her door to try and fuck with her.

 “He’s not going to do anything to you. I won’t let him.” It’s an endearing sentiment, and Lagertha leans over to kiss Ragnar on the cheek. But he doesn’t need to worry about that. Kalf has never battered her body, and after their second year of marriage, she’d stopped letting him abuse her heart.

“He won’t try. I’ll beat his ass first,” she says.

Ragnar chuckles because he knows she’ll do exactly as she says. He’s still wearing scars from their sparring matches.

“You know… I had a dream,” he tells her, pulling her back down on to the bed. The covers are folded back and they climb under them together. 

‘What did you dream?” She asks, turning to face him.

“I dreamt you were feeding me.”

“I _always_ feed you. What does that mean?”

“It means you love me.”  A wink. He’s told her this many times, but Lagertha has yet to say it back.

A soft kiss. And another. And another, until he manages to distract her from Kalf, and rolls her over on top of him. In the morning she rides him like a bull at the county fair. But when they exit her building mid-afternoon there’s a burst of light in their faces.

Paparazzi.

“Ragnar, did you sleep over?”

“How long have you two been dating?”

“Is this a thing?”

He grabs her hand and they duck quickly into the waiting car.

They both know exactly who did it.

Kalf.

.

.

 

**“Is the ‘Shield-maiden’ Getting It In? Rumors Fly Regarding Sex Scene Between Co-Stars”**

**September 7 New York—** The internet is buzzing over whether a provocative scene in the first season of “The Shield-maiden’s Tale” was real. The show’s main stars, Ragnar Lothbrok, 30, and Lagertha Lowe, 27, insist it was staged. But a recent leak of the script shows what was written versus what transpired are not even close.

During a recent cast interview, the show’s main writer and director, Ecbert Wessex, may have alluded to what really went down.

“We… stopped the cameras rolling to let them relax, and we turned them back on really quietly when they weren’t paying attention—just letting them do their thing, you know. What you saw was very real. Very erotic…they were just totally caught up and it was beautiful. I loved it.”

The scene is highly suggestive, and soft focus coupled with strategically placed furs blocks the more explicit parts, but it nearly earned the show an ‘MA” parental advisory, which would have resulted in it being stripped from primetime. As it is now, nearly every scene with Lowe and Lothbrok carries heavy sexual undertones, even if they’re just emerging from battle covered in blood. Further fueling relationship rumors, the pair were recently photographed emerging from Lowe’s New York City apartment after spending the night together.

Sources close to the show say the duo have been dating throughout the first season, but when asked by Conan O’Brian about their relationship status during a recent appearance on his late night show, the two replied they are “just friends”, with Lowe calling Lothbrok her “spirit animal.”

Both actors are staying mum on their relationship status for now, and in the meantime, we’ll just have to wait for season two to return to see more of Valdemar and Shreya steaming up the small screen.

www.TMZ.com


	22. September Part 2

“Ragnar, you’ve got a situation.” It’s Rollo, on the phone.

“I’m telling you, they’re citing ‘sources close to you’ and there’s the photo of you two coming out of her apartment building…and it’s talking about that scene ya’ll shot…”

Ragnar is pacing in his agent’s office in downtown L.A.

It’s been a week and he hasn’t seen or heard from Lagertha. They’re on different coasts, and while he disagrees with her decision to “slow down” he’s respecting her wishes.  He can’t wait to get the call to head back to Canada to start filming again. Until then, it looks like they’ll be spending the next few weeks on opposite sides of the contiguous 48.

“Rollo’s right. I’ve got the story right here. In ‘TMZ’ no less, and those fuckers are seldom wrong. They’ve got eyes and ears everywhere.  This isn’t just some trumped-up story, Ragnar,” Torstein, his agent, tells him.  “This is a real fucking problem. It’s just a matter of time before your _other_ situation emerges.”

“Aslaug,” Rollo says. He’s on speaker phone.  “Ragnar what’s the latest?”

He sighs. “Another continuance. I just want this shit to be done.” He’s getting angry now. Really, really angry. He’s already paying child support, and now she wants alimony. They lived together less than a year. And what she’s demanding is nearly half his salary from the show. Ragnar wants his son. He wants his kid back. But right now he’s got no visitation. No rights. And he’s Ivar’s _father_.

 “ _Are_ you dating Lagertha Lowe?” Torstein is waiting.

“Yeah.”

“You know you’re fighting above your weight class right? She’s a fucking dynasty. Do you know who her ex-husband is? Who her mother is?”

“I know her mom is Caroline and her ex is Kalf.”

“Yeah. As in Caroline Lowe of Vesper Entertainment—they represent half the people in this industry. And your girlfriend’s ex-husband is Kalf Hedeby, old money L.A. The man owns half the damn city.” At that, Ragnar looks at Torstein.

“ _What_ are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying _you_ need be careful. Because if you fuck up Lagertha or her mother could _ruin_ you. Have you told Lagertha about Aslaug?”

“Kind of.”

“What does that even mean?” It’s Rollo on the phone.

“I told her I was married.”

“Did you tell her you still are, according to the state of California? Does she know about Ivar?” Torstein again.

Ragnar’s silence provides the answer.

“What the actual FUCK man?!” Rollo is now screaming. “Are you out of your goddamned mind? How long are you planning to go without saying shit? You MUST have a death wish, because I will tell you now—if you don’t say anything, and Lagertha finds out, you can kiss your girlfriend and probably your  ass, goodbye.”

.

.

“I’m telling you, Ecbert sold you two out,” Siggy says over speaker phone. But Lagertha shakes her head. “No, it was my ex-husband, as well.”

 It’s been two weeks since they were accosted outside her apartment and Lagertha hasn’t seen Ragnar in almost the same number of days and is just trying to lay low. Helga is busy running interference, threatening to back her out of interviews if Ragnar’s name is even mentioned. It’s a complete violation—she feels as if she’s been stripped naked and put on display in front of the world.

She’s an actress. The show is a job. But her relationships should be her own. Why is it anyone’s business to know who she chooses to sleep with? What does that have to do with anything? This is her LIFE. And right now, it’s insane. What’s worse is that it’s also the longest she and Ragnar have been apart. And she misses him. Misses his warmth, his security. His touch. She misses the heat of his breath on her neck, and the way he squeezes her possessively. She misses his smell, and it’s almost as if she’s lost a part of herself too.

 “Did you see the photos?” Siggy asks her. Lagertha sighs and pours herself another glass of wine, staring out of one of the large windows and out at the city spread before her.

“Yeah. I saw them.”

It’s the latest—the actual stills from the sex scene…Ragnar’s teeth on her breast, his lips on her stomach…the look on her face…it’s an intimate moment out on display for anyone to look at. It’s worse than humiliating. The pictures are clear and crisp and she knows exactly what they were thinking and feeling at the time.  What she wants is to crawl in a hole and die. But death would be too easy. The tabloids at least published censored photos, but there are others that aren’t, living and breathing online—and those are far, far worse, and much more incriminating.

Helga sticks her head into Lagertha’s living room.

“So, I couldn’t get you out of the Chelsey Handler interview, Lags. I’m sorry. Network overrode me.”

Chelsea Handler…dear God…

“Siggy, I gotta go,” she says.

“Ok. I understand. Hey, if you need to bail—I’m in San Diego, and I never get visitors.”

“I may take you up on that,” she says hanging up the phone and turning to Helga.

 “So, what am I wearing tonight?”

Strangely, it’s Handler who sets her at ease. At it happens in the middle of their interview.

“So, I’m seeing all these stories, like ‘are they, aren’t they?’ Regarding you and your co-worker. And let’s just be real a moment. That’s exactly what this is—this is a JOB, right? Like, you file taxes. You pay into Medicare and Medicaid and Social Security like everyone else. And I have to say, I think it’s kinda ridiculous that so many people are so vested in who you may or may not be screwing, which, by the way…is it any good?”

It makes her laugh. Like side-splitting laughter.

“Um yeah. Yeah. It’s good—I mean…the job that is. It’s a great job,” she plays it off and Handler and the crowd crack up.

“Yeah. It’s a really big job. Right? Like how many jobs do we as women get? Sometimes they’re wet jobs, hard jobs… _blow_ jobs… _head_ jobs…” The largely female audience is snickering. Lagertha is too.

“See, it’s really not about you. It’s about the perception other people have of who you and Ragnar Lothbrok are as people. It’s some weird fantasy sex-shit, and imagine there are people all other the place getting off at the thought of you and co-worker screwing. Kind of gross when you think of it.”

“Um, it’s pretty disturbing when you frame it that way,” Lagertha admits. “But I think you have a valid point there. When this all started up, we didn’t really take it seriously, you know? I didn’t think the scene was a big deal, and I didn’t think the show would be as successful as it has been, and all of this has been a real roller coaster. We work really hard on the show though, and I think the audience sees that and appreciates it.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to it, because I could give a damn who you or Ragnar are screwing, but I will tell you one thing...I will _castrate_ Valdemar if he ever cheats on Shreya!”

They wrap and Chelsea gives her a hug. Afterward, back stage, the host offers a few words.

“My advice to you. Ignore it. Do like Beyoncé and Jay Z. Neither confirm nor deny. It’ll get old.”

It’s close to 11 when she finally gets home. Her cell phone rings and without looking at it, she answers.

“So you’re having sex with your co-worker _and you_ decided to do it on set.”

Caroline. Her mother.

Lagertha kicks off her shoes and goes straight to the liquor cabinet, bypassing the wine and pulling out the Jack Daniels. She pops open a can of coke and mixes herself a drink.

“No lectures. I’m really not in the mood for it. Just…can you get them taken down?”

 “We’re working on it. I’ve sent out a ton of cease-and-desist letters, and I’ve already filed several complaints with google. They won’t disappear forever, but they’ll be harder to access. But…what is WRONG with you?! How the hell did something like that even HAPPEN, Lagertha?!”

She knew it. Caroline just can’t help herself.

“I’m not dignifying that with an answer.”

Caroline snorts. “So you ARE sleeping with him then. Kalf told me Ragnar was at your place a few weeks ago.”

Kalf. Lagertha freezes.

“ _You_ told him I was in New York?!”

“He wanted to see you.”

 She’s livid. Absolutely fucking livid. This time, her mother has gone too far.

 “ _He’s_ the one who called the paparazzi. WHY would you do that? It’s been a fucking year!”

Caroline starts to talk, but Lagertha cuts her off.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now. Or anytime soon.”

She hangs up and takes the rest of her drink to the head. When that doesn’t work, she changes clothes and goes to the gym kicking and striking out at the body bag in the corner. She goes until she can’t anymore, until she’s completely tired out and when she finally comes back to her apartment she falls asleep on the couch.


	23. September Part 3

He hasn’t seen her in three weeks, and it’s been like slow torture. He misses her. Her smell, her touch, and the way she feels curled against him. Her habit of biting her bottom lip when she’s puzzling over something. He misses the way she sets his heart and mind at ease—because he’s been far from it lately. And after having sex daily for the past month Ragnar won’t deny he’s starting to go into a physical withdrawal. But tonight is awards night. The Emmy’s. Tonight he gets to see and touch the woman he loves.

Rollo, Floki, and Bjorn are joining him at the ceremony. And he’s just waiting for the car to pull up. When it does he and the guys get inside and they drive to the hotel where Siggy, Athelstan and Lagertha are staying. Even here, there are photographers all around, making him reconsider going inside to get her. Instead, he stays in the car, waiting. And when she pops in, followed next by Siggy and Athelstan, he can’t help it—he pulls her close to him and kisses her, careful to not ruin her makeup.

“I’ve missed you,” he tells her. “I’ve missed you too,” she says quietly, stroking his beard. They rub noses. He takes a look at her. She’s dressed in yellow, her gown all billowing folds. It’s dark and he hasn’t quite been able to see the whole thing, but he knows she looks beautiful. She always does. He whispers into her ear.

What he says makes her flush.

“Alright you two. You’re making it hard for us to be your beards,” Athelstan tells them, and they laugh.

Really. It’s good to have friends. Ragnar feels a kick on his leg and he looks up to see Rollo glaring at him. Yeah. He knows. Tomorrow. He’ll tell Lagertha everything tomorrow.

The limo pulls up to the theatre, and they all get out at the same time. Athelstan has an arm around Siggy, and Ragnar’s got Lagertha in his. Now under the lights, he gets a full look at her dress. She looks like a goddess of antiquity. It’s completely backless and the front plunges down almost to her navel, held up by two slender strings on her shoulders. It’s damned sexy and he already knows he wants her out of it as soon as possible. And fuck whoever knows.

“Ragnar! Lagertha! Over here!” A photographer calls to them and they go to the spot and pose for photos. He’s holding her tight.

Finally they’re released to go inside, where they make their way down to the chairs. The cast has two rows to themselves.

“Hey, everyone gets a picture!” Bjorn says. “I know right?” Floki adds. “For a night we get to be famous.”

They all laugh. They can chill for the rest of the evening. And it’s a good one. Siggy wins best supporting Actress. Ragnar wins best actor and Lagertha best actress. It’s a show sweep.

“Hey guys, let’s detour,” Rollo says as they’re leaving the last of the four mandatory industry parties. It’s past 4 a.m.

“Where to?” Athelstan asks, drowsily. They’ve all been drinking and are in various stages of drunk.

“Time to crash,” Rollo says looking at Ragnar and Lagertha. Ragnar’s head is back on the seat, tie draped across his shoulders, his shirt partially unbuttoned. Lagertha is curled on his shoulder, eyes closed. They’re both asleep.  The rest of them fall silent.

“Good point, man,” Athelstan says, looking at their friends.

The limo stops and Rollo shakes Ragnar.

Lagertha wakes up.

“Where are we?” She asks.  “My place,” Ragnar tells her, stretching. “Night, guys.”

The driver opens the door to let them out.

“Call me in the morning, whenever,” Rollo says as they leave.

He nods and takes Lagertha’s hand as they go up to his apartment. 

When the doors close he pulls her to him and removes the strings, letting the dress fall to the floor. He follows, dropping to his knees and putting his face between her legs to worship her.

Lagertha starts to moan as his tongue begins to lick her nub before finding its way inside.  She shudders as it slides to the back. And when she can’t stand anymore, he’s there to catch her when she falls.

“Wait,” she pants, “Do we have anything …something?” She doesn’t know what makes her ask. It’s not like they’ve used them ever before. But there’s a flashing yellow light in her mind and its telling her to slow down... they’ve been playing roulette.

Shaking his head, Ragnar kisses her, continuing his ministrations on her body as he undresses himself.

 “Do we really need them?” he whispers against her belly.

They move into his room and he backs her onto his bed. Ragnar catches her nipple between his teeth and moves into position on top of her resting between her legs.

“We don’t want to get pregnant…” it comes out a whisper…unsure…She loves it when he’s dominant, and they’re both hungry, starved for touch, and starved for sex. When he enters her, she gasps and wraps her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips.

Ragnar’s voice is low and deep and she opens her eyes to stare into his as he starts to move slowly.

“Who is _we,_ love?”

Butterflies begin to flutter in her stomach and suddenly, she nervous. It’s the way he’s looking at her, staring at her, studying her. Ragnar’s gaze is intense and she tries to turn away but he gently guides her head back keeping up his steady rhythm.

He loves Lagertha, more than he’s ever loved anyone and he can see it all so clearly, her as his wife, a baby in her arms, their farm…it’s a beautiful image, one he’s dreamed about now for so many months…a future of happiness, of contentment. She’s everything that he’s ever wanted and everything he didn’t know he needed. And he wants to secure it, to secure them. Bind them together, forever…

Their love becomes urgent. Intense.  Like he’s starving and she is too, and it’s so damn good. And as he works her body she can feel it starting to build.

Ragnar groans as he pushes deep, the sensation makes her gasp and cling to him. He’s going to do this. Tonight.

She looks into his face. Her lover’s eyes are closed and he’s biting his lip, his brow creased in concentration.

 _“Yes…”_ A whisper laced in a moan. He opens his eyes and looks at her.

“Yes…” She says it again and her body opens for him more, wanting him badly…all her senses are heightened, and the tension in her womb is growing…expanding…

“Yes what, love?”

This game they’ve been playing turned serious a long time ago. The night he asked her about what she wanted for the future. The night she told him. They traded the boxing ring for the bedroom…

She’s biting her lip, holding on to him and trying to fight the buildup of emotion and sensation inside her.

“I want you to come,” she whispers, clinging to Ragnar desperately as he starts to rotate between her legs, pushing…probing…until he slips a little deeper, and she cries out. He’s thought about this for weeks now. The plan intentional. Get her to say yes, to agree, to share responsibility, to alleviate the twinge of guilt he feels at doing it in the first place. He’s been steadily working at it.

 “ _Where_?” He breathes, the words rushing through her body and into her heart, into the very depths of her desire…he gives it a voice, an affirmation of something she knows he wants and something she wants to give him…

_“Inside me.”_

As soon as she says it he feels her body stiffen and he pushes deeper until she trembles under him and calls out his name again.

The force of Lagertha’s orgasm makes him break and let go, pushing into her until he’s deep inside and she’s drawing his sex into her body, and making him follow her into oblivion.

It’s so strong it touches something deep inside her, and she’s surprised to find there are tears flowing down her face. Her body sings even as she shakes all over.

“I love you,” Ragnar whispers, His head buried in her chest. He’s said it before and he’s meant it every single time. But now, he hears something from Lagertha he’s been yearning for…

He’s told her this many times.

“I love you, too.”

It’s the first time she’s said it back.

They lock fingers and they lock bodies as they drift off to sleep. It comes to her quickly, brought on by the high of lovemaking. He listens as her breathing begins to slow. Even out. It’s been perfect from the start.

Aslaug is not his wife. Lagertha is.

“Marry me.”

Silence.

She’s already asleep. He follows her.

It’s September 23rd.

Two months ago they made love the first time.

He forgets to tell her the next day.


	24. October

**October**

Halloween is approaching, and they’re spending it in Canada. As it stands, everyone’s house stateside is either a rental by now, or just a temporary resting place they’re only in a few times a year. A very expensive hotel, of sorts. All four of them have returned and it’s Siggy who comes up with the idea.

Lagertha agrees readily. She loves Halloween, it’s her favorite holiday. They come up with a theme and tell Ragnar and Athelstan.

“I’m down,” Athelstan says, but Ragnar isn’t as keen on it. “How many people?” He asks warily.

“About 50,” Siggy says.

“How long?”

“Um…until we run out of liquor?”

Ragnar sighs. It’s not that he hates parties, he just hates the idea of having his place commandeered for hours. But he relents when Lagertha gives him eyes. There’s also the ‘majority-rules system’ in place, and It’s three against one.

Since they’re hosting, they’re all dressed early. Siggy and Lagertha have prepared the house, roping off certain areas, and making sure the traffic stays between the kitchen, living room and pool deck. The DJ is setting up outside.

There’s a knock at Siggy’s bedroom door and she opens it, seeing Lagertha there in a short trench coat.

She comes in and Siggy closes the door behind her.

“Okay, tell me the truth. Is it too much?” Lagertha opens the jacket and Siggy’s mouth falls open.

Seeing the expression, she closes the coat. “It’s too much.”

“ _Well_ …it depends on what you’re trying to accomplish,” Siggy says with a sly smile and a wicked gleam in her eyes. “If you’re trying to climb ‘Mount Ragnar’ then…I’m a hundred percent sure that’s the golden ticket for that ride.” She laughs.

“I was going for sexy dominatrix,” but Lagertha says it with a slight grin and Siggy already knows what’s up.

“Oh, you’re sexy alright, but I’m also fairly certain if you come out like that there will be a line of people waiting to be…dominated,” she says, laughing.

Ragnar’s dressed in a black suit. But it’s carefully tailored and it fits across his shoulders and chest and legs perfectly. Only Ragnar Lothbrok can make a suit look sinful, Lagertha thinks, coming out of her room to greet him.

“You look great.” He says it as he places a kiss on her cheek while admiring the fitted trench coat, the fishnet tights and the mile high stiletto shoes she’s wearing.  It’s sexy in an understated way he thinks.

“And what are you supposed to be?” Lagertha sidles up next to him, close.

“A bouncer.” He flashes a set of real brass knuckles.

The party is already going hard when they walk onto the patio and Siggy comes up to them. “You guys finally emerged.”

They pose for photos with friends.  And Lagertha gets Ragnar to dance with her. Well, she dances on him, rather. It’s an unseasonably warm night and everyone is having fun.  But she’s got something else on her mind. And he’s behind her.

She turns to face Ragnar, wrapping her arms around his check.

“Do you like my costume?” She asks.

“I love it,” he tells her, kissing her gently, making her smile against his lips. “How much longer do we have to party until we can take it private?”

She laughs. “ _How_ did I know you were going to say that?”

His hands are gripping her ass. That’s how she knew.

“Come on.” She takes Ragnar’s hand and they disappear back inside, and under the caution tape to go to his room, at the furthest end of the hall.

When the door closes, he takes off the jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Lagertha watches as he gets comfortable and she takes her time, walking slowly up to him. Ragnar’s seated, untying his shoes. But he stops at the sound of rustling fabric, and the sight of those black shiny leather stilettos in front of his feet. His eyes travel up, noting the fishnets, and they go higher still…

He leans back groaning, running his hand down his face as Lagertha looks down at him, grinning. The trench coat is gone, and she’s wearing a black sheer lace bra and matching panties. There’s a black leather corset around her waist embossed with a raven on it, and those fishnet tights are held up by a garter belt. She’s got the whip in hand. But what has him totally thrown is what’s around her neck--a gold choker with an O-ring dropping from the center.

“Do you still like my costume?”

He pulls her onto his lap, eyes on the necklace…fingering it. She smiles and reaches behind her neck to take it off, giving it to him. Ragnar’s eyes light up as he realizes the ring comes off and he touches it as Lagertha watches, with a soft smile. She starts to move on him, stirring the pot a bit…

For the past few weeks she’s been studying his adult videos carefully, and each one usually starts off the same way, with few variations. She’s approached this as a research project. Looking it up online and purchasing books, figuring out tips, technique. It’s become a point of personal curiosity and there’s been practice as well. Bananas, cucumbers. Hunting on the produce aisle for the rights shapes and sizes… Tonight though, is the final exam. It’s either pass or fail.

“Any ideas?”

Ragnar looks at her quietly and takes the O-ring, playing with it in his hands thoughtfully. Lagertha slinks down his body to the floor, kneeling in front of him and unzipping his pants. He shakes his head.

“Lay down. On your back,” he says, watching her intently. She does.

“Spread for me.”

Ragnar is sitting in the chair, following her every movement with his eyes. His voice is low and he’s absolutely still. It makes her shiver, but she does as he asks.

“Take off your panties.”

They come down.

He gets up and comes to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Now, I want you to touch yourself.”

Her heart beats faster, and she slides her own hand down her body, closing her eyes and touching. It elicits a gasp.

“Imagine it’s my hand.”

He’s guiding her actions, and she’s obeying his commands. He’s good and hard but tonight, he wants to play a bit. Lagertha starts to moan, and he smiles as she begins to writhe.

“Do I feel good to you?” he takes off his clothes, planning to join her in a moment. 

“Yes…” it’s hitched. She’s close to coming, and her breathing is growing increasing shallow.

Another moan…he can sense it…..

“Now stop.”

Lagertha gasps and opens her eyes. Ragnar comes over naked and stands her up on shaking legs.

“Show me what you originally had in mind.” His eyes are full of devilment, and he’s got the o-ring in hand as he sits on the bed watching as Lagertha slinks down between his legs.  What she does next makes his head go back and his hand wrap into her hair.

“I know I didn’t teach you this…” he manages to choke out.

She smiles, briefly coming up for air. “I’ve been studying.”

It’s a good thing the volume on the music is all the way up they’re in the back of the house, because when she resumes what she’s been doing, Ragnar yells…loudly.

When he is finally able to form words again, he looks at Lagertha, grinning up at him. “Happy Birthday, Ragnar.”  She licks her lips and he lifts her onto his lap, kissing her passionately.

Hell yes it is. The best birthday ever. And it’s far from over.


	25. November Part 1

**November**

What the hell sort of ungodly hell is this? She’s been sick now for more than a week. Throwing up in the mornings, struggling to keep food down.

At first, she thought maybe it was too much alcohol from the Halloween party. It started the morning after and hasn’t let up since. It’s now Saturday again, and as she walks into the living room and catches a whiff of pancakes, it turns her stomach and she runs back to her bathroom.

Ragnar, Athelstan and Siggy watch her bolt.

“How long has this been going on?” Athelstan asks.

“For the past week,” Ragnar says, casually stuffing his mouth with a forkful of Siggy’s pancakes, courtesy of Athelstan’s grandmother.

“Maybe she should go to the doctor.” Athelstan is trying to be helpful, but Ragnar shrugs. “That’s what I said three days ago and I got cussed out.” He takes another bite and, still chewing, goes to the kitchen to get Lagertha’s stack, since she’s otherwise occupied.

Siggy’s quiet, looking at the both of them and shaking her head. It’s just a suspicion, but…she gets up from the table to go check on Lagertha and finds her face down in the toilet, heaving.

“I seriously don’t know what this is,” Lagertha says weakly, reaching for a towel. Siggy hands her one and leaves a moment to head to her bathroom. She checks the drawer, the cabinets...damn. There’s usually at least one somewhere. She goes back to Lagertha.

“When was your last period?”

Lagertha’s brushing her teeth and its take a moment for her to respond. When she finishes, they go back into her room and she thinks about it a long while.

It usually comes around the 25th of each month…October? No…nope. She was clear on Ragnar’s birthday…September? The Emmy’s were on the 23rd…

August? No…that can’t be right…but…as she considers it she realizes that yes, August. Because Ragnar was begging for sex during that time and she wouldn’t let him.

Siggy’s waiting, watching the dawning of awareness on Lagertha’s face.

“You don’t think…” Lagertha starts…speaking the words quietly.

“Hey guys, we’ll be right back,” Siggy says as she and Lagertha walk out the door. They come back 15 minutes later and make a beeline for Lagertha’s room.

“Okay. We got three. Do you want to pee on all of the sticks or just one?” Siggy asks holding out the packages.

“Let’s do all three to be sure,” Lagertha grabs the sticks and slips into the bathroom. After a minute she comes back and they settle on the bed to wait.

There’s a one minute test, a two minute test and a five minute test.

Sixty seconds later and they’re both peering, trying to make out whether there’s one line or two.

 “What’s it say? I can’t really tell,” Lagertha says, turning her head to the side to try and get a better look. Siggy leans in close to it. “It’s like a line and a quarter…or something.”

The instructions say one line yes, two lines no. A dud.

They wait a little longer—the two-minute test.

“Check or x?” Lagertha asks. She’s wrapped her arms around her legs.

Siggy squints.  “Um…it looks like both.”

Another dud. It’s stressful, waiting. Two inconclusive results. There’s only one more left. All Lagertha wants is something definitive either way. Yes, or No.

Three more minutes. The five minute test results should be coming soon…

They shift when the timer on Siggy’s phone goes off. This time, they lean in together to see what the stick says. None of the letters repeat, so it should be conclusive…

Lagertha’s eyes widen as she reads the stick. There’s absolutely no mistaking what it says. Siggy’s eyebrow goes up as she looks at it as well.

There’s no such thing as a Plan C.

.

.

It’s Wednesday, and at least her nausea has abated somewhat. Tonight, Lagertha is cooking. Because tonight she wants to tell Ragnar the news. For the past few days he’s been hovering, touching and feeling on her, and she thinks he suspects but hasn’t said anything.

The dinner is something she knows she can hold down: pesto chicken with mushrooms and mozzarella over a bed of yellow rice with squash. For dessert she’s bought two cupcakes with candy pacifiers on top. They’re cute, and she thinks, a clever way to break the news.

The day she found out, felt like more of a daze. Ragnar had gone out to the lake, leaving her to herself. And it was probably a good thing, because she couldn’t quite figure out her feelings.

But when she woke up the next day, Ragnar wrapped around her, she felt like it was okay. There was no worry. No anxiety. No fear. His hand was on her belly and she remembered how good he’d been with that baby. She knows he wants to be a father, he’s told her this, and she knows he’ll be great at it. They love each other and their baby was created in it.

It really couldn’t be any more perfect.

The smell wafts down the hall, drawing him out of the room. “Finally, you emerge,” she teases as he comes close sweeping her into his arms, kissing her longingly.

“For me?”

“Always,” she says, raising the spoon to his lips and letting him have a bite of the rice with the pesto on it.

“mmm...I love it when you feed me,” he says, burying his face in her hair and hugging her as she pokes him on the belly.  

Ragnar is constantly eating or drinking something, and it’s not the first time Lagertha has been surprised he’s not fat by now. If it’s not food, its beer, or whiskey.   And she does enjoy feeding him. There’s just something about it that’s intimate. Maybe it’s the knowledge she can satisfy his body, his heart, his mind.

“Shall I get the wine?”

“You can. I’m going to have juice, tonight,” she calls as he moves off to grab a bottle. When Ragnar comes back, Lagertha’s carrying the plates to the table. They settle down and he starts eating.

Lagertha just watches, smiling to herself as she slowly cuts her chicken and chews.

“This one is new,” he says.

“Not new, it’s just your first time having it.”

“Can I have more?”

Sure enough, in typical Ragnar fashion, the plate is spotless. She nods and he moves to get up, but she puts him back down and holds out her hand for the plate. “Let me.”

He does and she goes to get him seconds and comes back placing the plate in front of him.

It disappears quickly and Ragnar leans back in his chair, licking his lips.

“Satisfied?”

“Highly. It’s like I made you on special order.”

Lagertha laughs. “Let me guess. Did you wish for me for Christmas?”

“I wished for you the past 10 Christmases.” She smiles and gets up.

“Where are you going?”

“To get our desserts.”

When she comes back again, there are two cupcakes in her hand. One pink, one blue.

“Which one do you want?” He chooses pink. Strawberry. Lagertha keeps the blue one and puts his in front of him.

He lifts a fork to it, but pauses as he takes a closer look at what’s on top. He picks the candy up, holding it to his face, studying it…

Lagertha watches as he tries to figure it out.  And when he finally does, his eyes are wide as he looks at her.

“Are you…?”

“mmm hmmm…”

He breaks into a grin and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her down and onto his lap in a hug.

“Oh my God, Lags…” Ragnar buries his face in her chest, feeling the heat behind his eyes. He feels like his heart is about to burst from his chest.

_It worked._

He did it. Lagertha’s going to have a baby. His baby. He’s going to be a father again. It’s a second chance. An opportunity start over, and hopefully, get it right this time.

She holds him and it fills her with such warmth, the fact that Ragnar is genuinely pleased with it all. And when he finally looks up at her, she kisses him gently, her own eyes filling with happy tears too.

“I love you Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“I love you too. I can’t believe we made a baby.”

But, they did.

That night, he gets to touch for the first time as they lay together in his room.

 “Hi little one,” he whispers against her skin placing kisses on her belly. It’s still flat, but he knows what’s in there. And when he wraps his arms around Lagertha again, he’s holding his little family in his arms. It couldn’t be any better. They mean the world to him.

 “We should start looking for a home,” she says. “For ourselves, and for the baby.”

A home…for them.

Tomorrow he’ll call the attorney, tell him to give Aslaug whatever she wants, and hope she’ll be willing to at least split custody. She can have the condo and child support. He will pay it. Though it makes him cringe, he’ll even pay her alimony. Hopefully she’ll agree to free him and if she does, he can give Lagertha her ring.

 Ragnar thinks this as he falls asleep…forgetting for the moment he still hasn’t told her he has a son…or a wife.


	26. November Part 2

It’s Lagertha’s birthday, and he’s out shopping, trying to figure out what to get her. What he really wants is to give her what’s in his pocket. He fingers the ring. Still there. But he can’t. There’s still too much unresolved.

She’s got his baby. She’s got his heart. But it’s all he can give her, for now. He can’t give her the forever he knows she wants. He can’t help her complete their circle. Not as long as he’s still tied by a choke chain to someone else. Someone he never should have married in the first place.

But he knows the kind of woman Lagertha is. Unlike Aslaug, she would never deny him from seeing his child.

It may very well end up being what he has to settle for. Because his ex-wife has refused him yet again.

No deal. Aslaug will not budge on full custody. And he won’t budge on a split.

He shakes the thoughts away as he walks down the promenade. It’s Lagertha’s day. And he wants to make it a happy one for her.

Still the problem remains. What to get for her birthday?  Ragnar walks into a little jewelry store.

“How can I help you sir?” The saleswoman smiles at him appraisingly. It’s a look he gets a lot, and he ignores it.

“I’m looking for a gift for my...,” girlfriend? Partner? Fiance? After all this time, none fit right. No, one does, but she can’t have it, because someone else already does.  “Girlfriend,” he says. “Today is her birthday, and she’s pregnant. I was hoping for a two-in-one.”

‘Girlfriend’ and ‘pregnant’ do the trick and the woman backs away a bit, looking somewhat disappointed.

“Oh. Well…how about a necklace?”

“Sure.” He follows her to the display case, looking.

“Can I see that one?” He points to it and she brings it out of the display case and hands it to him.

He studies it.

The charm is a dove, with emeralds for eyes, its wings spread. It’s about an inch long, inlayed with diamonds and he thinks it’s perfect. He remembers how she was when they first met-- friendly, but guarded, tough. And he thinks how she is now. Open, soft. Happy. They both are.

“I’ll take it.”

The sales woman looks at the price tag then at him.

“You must really love her,” she says laughing.  “Do you have any brothers? A twin?”

He smiles and shakes his head.

“No twin, and both of my brothers are married with kids.”

That night, they’re in downtown Toronto at a restaurant. He made the reservations weeks ago and he’s glad he did, because the venue is small. Intimate. They fill up fast, and there are only a set amount of tables here.

Lagertha looks wonderful. She’s wearing black pants with ankle boots, and a halter shirt with a high neck and ruffles.

He’s in all black. Tailored slacks, hard bottoms, dress shirt the top two buttons left undone. Sleeves rolled up. Something she taught him to do—and it’s much more comfortable.  In fact, she’s taught him a lot.

“You clean up so well,” Lagertha says, kissing him on the cheek as they settle in.  Ragnar laughs. “I only do it because you insist.”

Dinner is great. But maybe it’s just the company. He orders a steak, and Lagertha looks longingly at the sushi, but settles for chicken. Her doctor has already told her what she can and can’t eat.

Afterward, they stroll in the park next to Lake Ontario. The lights of Detroit sparkle at them as they settle into a bench the pier. It’s cold tonight, but not yet freezing. They’re alone.

She rests her head on his shoulders, he holds her hand, using his free one to reach into his jacket pocket, pulling out the box. He gives it to her.

“What’s this?”

Lagertha looks at it, opening the top. Surprise.

“Happy birthday, dove.” He says as she fingers the necklace gently.

“Ragnar, this is too much.”

He shakes his head, taking it from her and putting it around her neck.

“Nope. It’s just right. You deserve that, and more. And I want…” It feels heavy. He stops himself from making a promise he knows he won’t be able to keep. He wants to give her a lot more than this damn necklace. He wants to stay here, in this moment, forever. But Ragnar knows forever doesn’t last always. And he also knows he’s been on borrowed time for a while now.  

No deal. No settlement.

 Instead, he makes a promise he knows he can keep. “I will always be there for you. No matter what.  I want you to know that. It’s my commitment to you.”

She looks at him. The way Ragnar says it, makes her worried. He sounds so sad.

“What’s wrong?” It comes out as a whisper. “What _aren’t_ you telling me?” Because she’s nervous now. Afraid when she has no real reason to be. A gust of wind comes through. She shivers, but not from cold.

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls her against his chest and holds her tightly. For the first time in their relationship…Lagertha feels unsure.

.

.

She has told him not to say anything yet, not for another month—doctor’s orders, but Ragnar does anyway. He tells his mother.

“Raki, I’m happy for you,” Nancy says. “When will you bring Lagertha home?”

“Soon I hope,” he tells her, weighing whether to say something else. “Hey mom? I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Given what you knew about dad’s past…What made you eventually say ‘yes’ to him?” Because Ragnar knows it took her a long time to accept his father. 

On the other end of the line, Nancy grins.

Finally.

It’s only taken 31 years.

“You’re father never stopped trying,” she says, “even when it seemed like it was hopeless. And believe me, there were a lot of those times.”


	27. November Part 3

The group of people who know is kept intentionally small. Siggy and Athelstan know since they all live under the same roof. Rollo, Floki and Bjorn are still in the dark intentionally, and Lagertha has yet to tell her mother because…well…she already knows what Caroline will say. Eventually, she’ll find out, but not until Lagertha’s ready for the bitch fit she knows will follow. After the Kalf incident, they still aren’t on speaking terms.

She’s only eight weeks into it, and the doctor says they’ll be out of the danger zone in another month. So that’s when she will make that call.

It’s mid-afternoon when the phone starts vibrating. They’re spending a lazy Sunday in bed, still recovering from the night before…Lagertha’s becoming increasingly demanding and Ragnar hadn’t realized pregnancy could kick a woman into overdrive. It wasn’t like this with Aslaug…but then again…they’d slept in separate rooms and she’d barely let him touch her. Their time was mostly spent arguing and when they weren’t—he was couch surfing.

 Lagertha though, has him working extra hard, and he’s not complaining. It’s been this way for a month now and the reason behind it just makes him smile.

They’ve been flipping through realtor.com, seeing what’s available and weighing whether they want to rent something or buy it. There are still three years left on their contracts. Ragnar rolls over to grab his phone, seeing Torstein’s name flashing on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Ragnar…where are you? L.A. or Toronto?” There’s urgency in his agent’s voice and it makes him sit up a little more.  “I’m in Toronto.”

“Are you somewhere you can talk?”

Lagertha looks at him. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know. Let me take this. I’ll be right back,” he says leaving the room and walking out to the patio.  Siggy and Athelstan are gone.

“Yeah. What is it?” He asks.

“Please tell me you’ve told Lagertha about Aslaug and Ivar.”

Oh no…

At Ragnar’s silence, Torstein breathes deeply on the other end of the line.

 “I just got a call from a reporter at _People_ , asking me if I could confirm that you and Lagertha are dating, and asking if your divorce from Aslaug is final…Ragnar…the story is going up today…they’ve got the court records…they’ve talked to your wife…”

He slumps into the nearest chair, trying to process it all…he wanted more time…needed more time…Lagertha cannot find out, not like this.

“Can it be stopped?” It’s comes out low...panic starting to creep into his voice.

“I can’t stop it. They’ve got the records, Ragnar, and they’re the press. And they’re _People_ —they’re fact-checking is iron clad.”

“Torstein, I NEED you to stop this…” He’s pleading now and pacing, trying to negotiate. “I can’t have Lagertha knowing…”

“I already TRIED to stop it, and you should have TOLD her before it got to this, You KNEW it was coming eventually.”

“I can’t tell her now,” he says feeling everything around him start to spin. Everything he’s been working so hard for is crumbling in slow motion.

 “Torstein, she can’t find out. She’s…pregnant.”

Silence.

A beat. A skip.

Torstein exhales.

“You’re fucked.”

.

.

Ragnar’s been a gone a minute and she’s about to go find him when her phone rings. She picks it up, seeing Helga’s name flash across the screen.  

“Helga?”

“Lagertha, there’s a big ass problem.” Helga doesn’t even bother with a greeting, and Lagertha sits up, wide awake now.

“Do you know Ragnar is married? Do you know he has a son?”

She stops breathing, and it feels like the room is starting to spin…

“What are you saying, Helga? I don’t understand…” Because she can’t. It doesn’t make sense…none of this makes any sense at all…

“Lagertha, _People_ just called to confirm if you two are dating. They’re running a story today. His wife is claiming he cheated on her with you and is suing him for alimony…Lagertha?”

“Lagertha?”

It’s not real.

This cannot possibly be real…

She can’t even listen to the rest.

Devastation isn’t the word.

Anger isn’t the word.

Hurt isn’t the word.

Slowly, she gets out of bed and leaves the room, walking down the hall looking, searching…she finds him on the patio and goes there.

Ragnar stands up as Lagertha walks outside. They stare at each other in silence. And he knows, from the expression on her face, that everything is about to fall apart.

“Lagertha, please let me explain--”  

Athelstan and Siggy hear the yelling as soon as they step out the car. And when they open the door to the house they stop—seeing Lagertha beating Ragnar on the patio.

“Oh shit!” Athelstan takes off at a run, heading out to pull Lagertha off Ragnar and Siggy rushes outside too, trying to figure out what is going on.

Lagertha’s still screaming and cursing and Ragnar is spitting blood.

.

.

**“’Shieldmaiden’ Stars Divorce Drama; Lothbrok Accused of Cheating on Wife with Lowe”**

**Los Angeles** —Court documents show “The Shieldmaiden’s Tale” star Ragnar Lothbrok embroiled in a bitter divorce. Lothbrok, 31, has been linked romantically to co-star Lagertha Lowe, 28. According to several cast mates, the two have been dating nearly a year.

The couple’s on-screen chemistry has fueled months of speculation and rumor. A sex scene between them nearly got the show bumped out of prime time. The actors were photographed two months ago emerging from Lowe’s New York apartment after spending the night together.

Lothbrok plays “Valdemar, husband of shield-maiden “Shreya.” According to the show’s website, Valdemar is “brave, loyal and passionately in love with his wife,” but that’s not carrying over to reality, where, according to documents filed in L.A. County Court, he is being sued for alimony. His wife, model Aslaug Sigurdsdottir, is claiming adultery and emotional abandonment. They have a 19-month-old son together and she is pushing for sole custody of the child.

Sigurdsdottir confirmed Lothbrok’s affair saying she found out about it via social media and had been “hoping we could reconcile but now that he’s cheated on me, there’s nothing I can do.”

An attorney for Lothbrok says he and Sigurdsdottir have been separated since the birth of their son. A spokesman for the actor has refused a request for comment and a spokeswoman for Lowe also declined to speak on the matter.

The affair comes as “The Shieldmaiden’s Tale” recently swept the Emmy's and excitement begins to build over its second season. Whether both actors will remain on as leads is unknown.

[www.people.com](http://www.people.com)

.

.

**“Sex, Lies and Lothbrok: ‘Shield-maiden’s’ Star’s Bitter Divorce Revealed"**

He may appear calm and nonchalant in public but Ragnar’s Lothbrok’s personal life is far from it, according to People Magazine, which just dropped a bombshell report. Lothbrok, star of the hit series "The Shieldmaiden’s Tale" has apparently been getting too close to his co-star and cheating on his wife in the process.Talk about having cake and eating it too.

Rumors of a relationship between Lothbrok and actress Lagertha Lowe have been flying recently fueled by a steamy sex scene and heavy sexual innuendo during several of their joint appearances. During a recent promotional panel show writer and director Ecbert Wessex suggested the sex shown on screen was 100 percent real. And during a yacht party, several people in attendance have claimed they saw two people who looked like Lowe and Lothbrok engaged in "questionable acts" in an observation deck room. Leaked photos from the set of the show also reveal show some suspect “acting” between the pair. 

The duo were photographed two months ago emerging from Lowe’s New York condo after spending the night together.

According to divorce records Lothbrok’s wife, model Aslaug Sigurdsdottir, is suing him for alimony and child support. She accuses him of multiple affairs and of cheating on her with Lowe. Sigurdsdottir told TMZ Lothbrok abandoned her when he started working on the show, and that she tried to make their marriage work, but that he wasn’t interested after meeting Lowe.

“She took my husband, and she took my world,” Sigurdsdottir said. “I don’t know her, but I have to wonder about a woman who fools around with a married man—especially one who abandons his child.”

www.tmz.com

 


	28. November Part 4

Lagertha is staying with Athelstan and Siggy in San Diego, and it’s been two days since her world fell down.  It’s the first time she’s actually left the room. She hasn’t answered the phone. She hasn’t made a call. She hasn’t turned on the TV. Or checked her email. Or read a paper. Or a magazine. There’s no point. She knows exactly what they all say.

Their show has never been more popular. And their lives are complete shit now.

When she walks out into the living room in a t-shirt, Siggy sees her and jumps up from the couch. Athelstan looks over at her worriedly before getting up and going into the kitchen.

“Thank God, I’m so glad you’re up. Come here. Sit,” Siggy says guiding her to a chair as Athelstan begins heating up some food. It appears in front of her two minutes later. She picks at it with her fork.

“Eat,” Athelstan commands sternly, and she looks at him.

“Eat, Lagertha.” He says, softer this time. She takes a small bite as Siggy goes to get water and returns. They wait until she’s eaten about half the plate, and Siggy gives her the water, quickly assuming the role of the older, wiser woman that she is.

“Thanks,” Lagertha finally speaks.

“You’re welcome, hun. How are you doing?”

“Probably about as well as I look,” she says drily.

“Well, let’s make you look better, Lags. Come on. Shower. You’re starting to smell funny.”

The cool mint toothpaste is invigorating. The hot water relaxes her body, and cleanses her skin, but when the soap hits her down below she feels a sting, and moans aloud. It hurts. A bruised heart and a bruised vagina both caused by the same person.  Insult and injury.

“Are you okay?” Siggy is standing outside her bathroom door, waiting. Probably not trusting Lagertha to not do something rash.

“I’m fine,” she calls back, rinsing off and turning off the water. Her body feels better, but her heart…

What the actual fuck? For all of this, she should have just stayed married to Kalf. At least he was the devil she knew. She could deal with his lies and his affairs. Kalf was up front about his shit. Ragnar….

At the thought of his name she’s torn between bawling her eyes out and punching the wall.

All she’d heard was “Aslaug” “wife” and “son.” The rest is blank. She realizes she doesn’t remember anything about what happened afterward. But she knows it was something bad. There are cuts on her hands and her knuckles are bruised.

“Siggy?” Lagertha calls cautiously for her friend and she comes with a fluffy green towel.

“Feel better?”

Not really. “I’m clean if that’s what you mean. But…I have a question…”

“What is it?”

“Um…what did I do to him?”

Siggy knows what she’s referring to. She comes into the room and closes the door.

“Do you really want to know?” She asks. Lagertha nods as she settles down on the bed in her towel and Siggy breaths deep.

“Athelstan had to pull you off Ragnar. You fucked him up pretty good.” Siggy is looking at Lagertha carefully as she explains what her friend clearly doesn’t remember.

“I cannot believe he lied to me,” Lagertha says softly, looking at the scratches and bruises on her knuckles. “He’s _been_ lying to me. From the start. He wasn’t supposed to lie to me…”

“His wife is divorcing him for adultery,” Siggy says softly, “and she’s suing him for alimony and child support.”

“Child support…” Lagertha is rubbing her belly and just trying to breathe through it. She just wants to cry. But she doesn’t.  Ragnar will not get the satisfaction of knowing just how deeply she’s hurting. And with no tears shed, she’s left to wonder exactly how she’d fallen for yet another man who has ended up breaking her heart. For all this, she should have just stayed with Kalf.

Siggy wraps her arms around Lagertha in a hug. It’s still hard to believe. They had been so good together, and Siggy had been rooting for them. Athelstan too. In many ways, Ragnar and Lagertha reminded her of Athelstan and herself; how their relationship had been before circumstances came between them. Athelstan had said a while ago that Ragnar was in love, and as a man, he would know. They were hoping for a happy ending for their lovely twosome, but after this…Siggy doesn’t think Ragnar intentionally deceived Lagertha—but a lie of omission is still a lie. And Ragnar’s lie is monumental.

It’s even worse because Lagertha’s pregnant…and it’s downright cruel the way she found out about it all.

Still, she doubts it’s over between them. It has never been over between her and Athelstan—they’ve just gotten stuck in each other’s orbit—and she knows from experience that if Ragnar and Lagertha can’t reconcile, they’ll end up in the same place: too afraid to commit, miserable with and without each other. Stealing moments of physical satisfaction when they both want something deeper, but afraid of it at the same time. She knows this because she and Athelstan have been down this road before and it ended badly.

Siggy can’t bring herself to hate Ragnar.  And she thinks she knows why he did what he did. They all share a house. She’s watched the relationship develop over time, and she knows he and Lagertha love each other deeply. Love makes people do stupid things, make bad decisions. Ragnar had been thinking with his heart, not his head. And unfortunately, he’d made a very bad choice.

Footsteps echo off the walls and she looks up to see Athelstan—her best friend and her lover, standing in the doorway. She shakes her head at him and he nods in understanding.  

_We won’t let them end up like us._

But it’s going to be a heavy lift.

.

.

“You should have told her the truth from the start.” Rollo says angrily. It’s been a week and Ragnar’s black eye and busted lip are still healing. He’d forgotten about Lagertha’s right hook, and she’d righteously beat him. When he closes his eyes he thinks of it—the absolutely devastated expression on her face. And then the rage fueled by his betrayal. She’d been crying the whole time she lashed out. At one point he’d just grabbed her and held her as she struggled against him—he’d tried to explain, apologize—he doesn’t think she even heard what he’d said beyond the word “wife.”

The divorce is front cover on all the entertainment magazines. He’s watched himself painted as a cheater on the late night shows. He gets to see the woman he loves called all manner of things yet the one who actually deserves it gets painted as a victim. What’s worse—there are photos from the sex scene and new ones from the yacht—he’d forgotten all about the yacht. The only saving grace there is that the pictures aren’t clear and it could be anyone in the window—he’s told Torstein to fully deny that.

Ragnar is beyond bitter about the whole thing, but he’s mostly angry at himself. All of this is his mistake, Lagertha just got caught up in it. He’s managed to fuck both of them on this one, and there’s no way out. If anyone were to know she’s pregnant…

Floki quietly passes him a freshly rolled blunt. Ragnar inhales deeply, and blows out smoke rings. He keeps it, and Bjorn lights another.

 “This shit just keeps going,” Bjorn says quietly. “Aslaug is determined to fuck your life, man…what did you DO to her?” Ragnar has never told them exactly what happened though they’ve caught parts of it. The question unleashes a tirade.

“She LIED to me,” Ragnar spits out, “Told me she was on birth control _then_ pops up pregnant. What was I supposed to do? _That’s_ why I married her. When the movie deal fell through she told me I was useless to her. She said she’d fuck me as I’d fucked her, so she cheated.” Ragnar gestures around him, “And as you see, she’s fucking me. Out of my son. Out of my money. Out of Lagertha, out of my baby.”

_Baby?_

The guys look at one another quietly as Ragnar gets up pacing, joint in one hand, a nearly empty bottle of Jack in the other.  

 “Lags is pregnant. We found out right before this shit dropped. I love her. I want her to marry her. I bought the ring…” he’s fishing around in his pocket, pulling out the glittering rock he bought four months ago. Right after the night he made love to her for the first time.

The guys look at it. It’s a huge yellow diamond. Expensive.

 Damn.

 “I _want_ my son. Ivar is nearly two, and all I got to do is sign his birth certificate and affidavit of paternity. I don’t even know where they are. I can’t visit. I can’t give him presents… I keep GETTING FUCKED!” Ragnar throws the bottle hard. It shatters against the cement wall of his apartment making the rest of them jump.  

“The legal system fucks me! She fucks me! The press fucks me! I’m a goddamned _monster_ , if you read this shit!  Do you _know_ she’s let me listen to MY SON calls another man _‘daddy?_ ’ All I’ve ever done is TRY with that bitch! I don’t care who Aslaug fucks. She can fuck the entire Dodgers team, for all I care.  I just want my _kid_.”

He’s so tired. Tired of it all. But Ragnar knows he can’t stop. Not if he wants to see Ivar again. And he does. Ivar is all he has. He MADE Ivar. He gets quiet, slumping back down in the chair, the rage momentarily burned down. Rollo, Floki and Bjorn realize he’s fallen asleep.

Rollo stays silent. All he can do is shake his head.

Floki takes the bud from the ashtray inhaling the last of the marijuana.  “I feel bad, man.  If we’d known…”

“Yeah. But do you honestly think he would have said anything? He probably never would have had he not gotten with Lagertha... did you _hear_ what he said? He LOVES her…I’ve never heard him say that about a woman,” Bjorn shakes his head. “I didn’t know it was that bad between him and Aslaug—I mean, I remember them getting married in Vegas but…” he trails off.

“You DID hear him say Lagertha’s pregnant.” Rollo says bluntly.

To him, it’s the biggest fuck up of all. Screw the rest. The situation is quickly becoming Aslaug 2.0. Rollo sighs heavily, trying to understand how it is that Ragnar has managed to nail down two of the most beautiful women on the planet and screw _both_ of them over.  He’s read the stories, and he knows Aslaug is lying about certain things—but the point remains--Ragnar started it, and now he can’t handle the fact that what he’s dealt out is coming back around.

They leave him in the living room, keeping the kitchen light on as they leave his condo.


	29. December Part 1

**December**

 

**December**

“Lagertha did you know Ragnar was married?”

“How long have you been in this relationship?”

“Are you a cheater?”

“Do you want to apologize to Ragnar’s wife?”

They fight through the throng of paparazzi and reporters staked outside her New York apartment. She’d had to go home to deal with management and the battle in was just as difficult as the one back out. It only adds fuel to the anger and hurt she’s feeling. And as they drop into the waiting car, she just wants to fight. To punch something. Some _one_. The windows are heavily tinted. No one can see in, but the flashbulbs continue to pop anyway as they drive off, leaving the crowd behind.

“It’ll be okay, Lags.”

She shakes her head, her right leg bouncing in agitation.  Lagertha hadn’t wanted to come back, but Siggy had made her—forcing her out and into the open.

“You can’t hide forever, and you need to go home,” she’d said.

Now they’re on the way back to the airport—flying by private jet—expensive, but money well spent for a moment of peace.

The affair is the topic of conversation on all the late-night shows. It’s the big story in the entertainment magazines, and damn if it hasn’t made actual, real news. The reporters MUST be desperate if something like this could be considered newsworthy.

“I’m on ‘Jimmy Kimmel’ tonight,” Siggy tells her as they touch down in Los Angeles.

She sighs.

“Tell them whatever you want. Tell them the truth, tell them a lie, I don’t really care.”

“Yes, you do. Look, you can stay inside and hide, but it won’t go away. It probably won’t for a while as long as you’re Shreya and he’s Valdemar and we’ve got the highest rated show in television. This is what being famous is like. It sucks most of the time. You lose all privacy. But Lagertha, don’t lose yourself. You have to get it together.”

“How Siggy? How exactly, am I supposed to get it together? You saw what happened. You were there from the start. He’s been lying to me from the beginning. If he can lie about being married, if he can lie about having a kid, what _else_ has he lied about?”

Siggy purses her lips.

“A lie of omission. He _did_ tell you about Aslaug.”

“No. He said he _was_ married. Not _is_. And he NEVER told me about his son. That’s a big ass omission.”

They’re in the car now, heading back to a hotel. Athelstan is still in New York, negotiating a possible movie deal. 

“We’re going out tonight,” Siggy declares once they’ve checked in. “When I finish taping, we’re going out. And don’t try to protest. You need to get your shit together Lagertha. You’re too strong to let one man break you. AND you need to distance yourself from this story. Go out. Be single.”

Lagertha pours herself some wine and goes to sit out on the patio. It’s a red, and only a single glass. Perfectly safe. Her phone rings.

It’s her mother. Caroline’s been calling since the story broke last week. It’s just the first time Lagertha’s picked up the phone.

“Yes, mom.”

“Ok. Let me get this straight. You’re _still_ fucking you co-worker. Who now happens to be married. AND has a kid. I _know_ I taught you better than this. Did you lose you mind?” Caroline is always blunt.

 “I can’t do this right now.”

“We’ll you’re going to do it sometime. We’re trying to clean this up as best we can. If I were you, I’d find a beard ASAP. Get this thing out of the way. And I hope to _God_ you didn’t catch anything from him.”

At that, Lagertha starts laughing. She laughs so hard she cannot stop and by the time she does finally calm down, Caroline is fuming.

“Explain yourself,” her mother demands.

“Sorry to knock you off her high horse, but I did. Catch something, that is,” It’s rude and filled with bitterness. She hears her mom gasp over the phone.

“Oh no…not an _S-T-D_ …”

Lagertha snickers, taking perverse enjoyment in messing with Caroline. Her mother has always been this way. Domineering, overbearing, trying to direct and dictate every aspect of her life. Caroline had introduced her to Kalf, encouraged the marriage and railed about the divorce. Their relationship has been tense since middle school and Lagertha knows Caroline’s just pissed because she stopped listening to her years ago.

“Nope! Even better than that! Congratulations _grandmother_ , I caught a _baby.”_

She drops the truth bomb with relish and promptly hangs up the phone, ignoring when it starts ringing again then buzzing as a ton of texts come pouring in.  Lagertha downs the wine before reaching for the bottle and refilling her glass. She stares at it a moment before throwing it against the wall.

It shatters.

She wants to kill him.

.

.

“Welcome tonight, from the hit series Shield-maiden’s Tale, Siggy Haraldson!”

There’s clapping and a few cat calls as Siggy walks out on stage. She settles into the chairs on the set, crossing her legs, and puts on her most winning smile as she waves and blows kisses to the audience. Kimmel settles in at his desk and tries to calm the crowd.

“Wow! What a season it’s been, right?”

Siggy grins. “It’s been a crazy year, I’ll say that. This show is amazing, the cast is amazing. We’ve all had a lot of fun.”

“We can tell. Let me tell you, this show is…amazing. I haven’t seen a show set in the past that resounds so much with the present. Let’s talk about your character Ammala. What a badass. I loved that scene when you and Shreya took out those English soldiers. Is that a theme here? Are all the women in this series so strong?”

“Yes. And think about it. To be a woman, to live in that world—I feel they had to be strong. Probably stronger than the men in many ways. You know that movie? ‘300’?”

Kimmel and the crowd nods.

“So my favorite scene is when the Persians come to Sparta and they step to Leonidas and his wife.  Queen Gorgo comes up and they’re surprised when she starts speaking. And she says something like, ‘only real women give birth to Spartan men’.”

The crowd, especially the women, start clapping.

“And I think if you look at our show—you look at the relationships between our main characters—that’s how we’re drawn. Yes we’re women. But we’re fighters and we’re lovers and we’re friends, and we’re mothers. And we are the ones who stand back and support and love our men. It takes a lot to do all that plus throw on some armor, pick up a sword and kick some ass.”

The audience loves it.

“How similar are you to Ammala, and I understand you and Lagertha Lowe are best friends—how true is her character to her?”

Siggy thinks on it a minute.

“I love Lagertha. We met the first day on set, and she’s like a sister to me. I can honestly say that what you see on screen, that’s all her. I mean, the woman kicks ass. She’s a beast. I think that both Shreya and Lagertha are really loyal to the people they love, and I think that really shines through. As for me, I wish I could be half as strong as Ammala. But what I identify most with is her sensuality and sense of self. She owns it.”

“So I have to ask this question, because obviously it’s everywhere… what can you say about Lagertha and Ragnar’s relationship right now? Obviously there’s a lot of questions…”

Siggy holds up a hand.

“You know, they are close friends of mine, and I respect and love them both. I would say what’s going on now isn’t fair to either of them and it’s just an unnecessary distraction.”

“So what should we look forward to in Season 2?” Kimmel switches subjects.

“I’d say look forward to some big changes for Valdemar and Shreya especially. This season he became an earl, but there’s going to be lots of folks gunning for all of us. And it’s going to be epic.”

.

.

As usual, the photographers are out. But it’s Los Angeles and the club is a familiar spot for celebrities.

“Smile,” Siggy says through bared teeth and Lagertha flashes a fake grin as they pose for pictures and make their way inside. She’s wearing a simple black fitted dress.   Siggy had made her change from her original outfit—a black jumpsuit and heels.

“No ma’am. You’re going to the club not a funeral.”

 But it still feels like one.

“Come on. Let’s dance.”

“I don’t really feel like it.”

“DANCE, bitch. Stop being difficult.”

So she goes. And they dance. And she gets one glass of wine. But it helps and she starts to feel a little better.

 “Hey you two.” A male voice comes from somewhere behind her and Siggy identifies it first.

“Rollo!” Lagertha turns around and he pulls the both of them in for a hug.

“Hey, didn’t know ya’ll would be here.”

“Yeah. We needed to get out. What brings you here? Siggy asks.

He shrugs. “It’s a Saturday night. Nothing to do. Floki and Bjorn are out of town.”

Rollo’s eyes are on Lagertha watching her as she dances away. The way she’s moving…

Siggy catches him and draws his eyes back to hers.

“Rollo…” it’s a warning. He ignores it and goes to Lagertha.

“Want to dance with me?”

She wraps her arms around his shoulders and lets him get close.

Siggy is standing guard, watching them both warily, ready to yank Lagertha off the dance floor if she must.

“Ragnar is your best _friend_ ,” She hisses at him with Lagertha in his arms, completely oblivious to the exchange.

“Yeah, but he also fucked up,” Rollo says, speaking low. “I told him to tell her the truth and he didn’t. So it’s his loss.”

She storms off, heading to the bar to get a drink but not taking her eyes off them.

It’s getting late as the music starts to slow, and Lagertha is still wrapped up in Rollo’s arms. She feels good against his body. And he won’t lie—he briefly entertains what it would be like if he got to take her home. But It’s immediately followed by guilt. She’s pregnant with his best friend’s baby. And when he sees the sad expression on her face, it’s even worse.

“You’re too good for him,” Rollo tells her. He knows he shouldn’t say that. But it’s true.

“I miss him,” she says. He instantly feels like shit for even thinking it.

“He misses you too.”

“Then why did he lie to me? We’ve been together nearly a year. He had all that time to say something.”

 “He’s an idiot,” Because really…what else is he going to say?

There aren’t words of comfort to offer Lagertha. He knows exactly why Ragnar did it, but that’s not for him to tell. It’s up to Ragnar, though he doubts his friend would ever admit it.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

He holds her by the waist and guides her across the dance floor to where Siggy stands by the bar glaring at him. Rollo puts up his hands and whispers to her. “I didn’t do anything, I swear. I need to talk to her and not here.”

She backs down and they make it outside, flashbulbs popping away. The photographers catch Rollo and Lagertha holding hands as a car is brought around for them and they dip inside.  

Once inside the hotel room Siggy goes to the bar to break open a bottle of wine. Lagertha sits on the couch waiting for Rollo to start talking.

“I don’t know if you know this, but…Ragnar has a certain way with women…” He’s trying to put it delicately.

“Yeah. I caught that memo,” Lagertha says saltily.

“He was messing with Aslaug but he wasn’t serious—Ragnar wasn’t serious with anyone. He had a lot going on at the time. A movie contract in the works, his mom was sick, and he was in a work drought at the time—she was just another thing on the list, and not a priority.”

Siggy is in the kitchen, trying to stay out the way, but listening in closely.

“When she popped up pregnant Ragnar was pissed. He felt like she’d tricked him. They got into a big fight. He called us and we all went out to help him drown his sorrows.”

Rollo looks across the room at Siggy and she nods at him.

“We were at a nearby bar and I really don’t quite know exactly how it happened, but there was a woman there and well…Ragnar disappeared with her. We saw Aslaug come in and we tried to run interference but she found them. There was a scene. They ended up leaving together and the next thing we know, they come back from Vegas married.”

“He bought his condo to take care of his family, and moved Aslaug in. He told us he married her because he thought it was the right thing to do. But then the movie fell through. And next we know he’s calling from the LA County Jail after he found her screwing some guy at his house. He crashed with me for a few days, saying he couldn’t kick her out because she was pregnant, and that it was pretty much the only reason he was staying married. He really wanted to be a father and to take care of his kid. But Ragnar and Aslaug fought every single day. It got to the point she was living at his place and he was living with us.”

Siggy takes a long drink of wine, listening quietly from the kitchen. Lagertha is still sitting on the couch, not moving as Rollo keeps talking.

“When Ivar was born, Ragnar left the hospital to go home and get the car seat. But when he came back, Aslaug had checked out with the kid. A month later, he gets served divorce papers. Now, I’m not saying Ragnar is a saint. He’s probably closer to Lucifer than Leliel, and he definitely had his fair share of wrong in this whole thing, but he has been trying to see his son and break from Aslaug, and she will not let him go. He’s been trying, even before he met you.”


	30. December Part 2

Siggy’s San Diego house has become her hideout, and here there aren’t as many paparazzi to razz her.

The day is bright, and clear, and she stops for a coffee at one of the local stores, heading out to the dozen or so tables on the patio and settling down in one to people watch under the shade of an umbrella. A shadow falls and she looks up at a tall, slender, elegant looking woman who is looking at her.

“Can I help you?” Lagertha asks politely. The woman looks familiar, and she’s is trying to figure out where she’s seen her before.

“Are you Lagertha?”

Fuck. She’s been noticed. At her hesitation, the woman sits down next to her. She’s gorgeous. Tall and slender with curly red hair, freckles, high cheekbones and wide set, bright green eyes. She could be a model. It’s likely she is.

“I’m Aslaug. I’m sure my _husband_ has told you all about me,” she smiles, but that’s where her beauty ends. It’s a mean smile, full of malice, and Lagertha immediately becomes defensive.

“What do you want?”

“I just want to see how you’re doing. How _Ragnar_ is doing,” she says with false concern.

“I’m fine. And you should ask your husband that. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Lagertha gets up to leave, but Aslaug puts a hand on her arm. She snatches it away.

“Let’s talk. I’m not the evil bitch he’s told you I am. You have a right to know what you got,” Aslaug tells her, the smile fading away. She’s speaking earnestly and despite herself, Lagertha sits back down. But she’s guarded, and silent.

Aslaug speaks.  She tells Lagertha how she caught Ragnar, drunk and high, inside another woman in the bathroom of a bar. She tells Lagertha that he cheated on her, repeatedly.

“That’s _not_ what I was told,” Lagertha says tersely.

 “And _who_ told you? Him?” Aslaug scoffs. “HE pursued me, not the other way around. And when he found out I was pregnant he told me to get an abortion. So there. _That’s_ what you’re getting, _that’s_ the man you’ve been dealing with.” Aslaug sits back in her chair, lips drawn tight. They sit in silence, staring at each other.

“Don’t think you’re the only woman he’s fucking,” Aslaug tells her. “Because it’s highly likely you’re not. Ragnar always has a few on rotation. He’s selfish, greedy and only cares about himself. After all, he didn’t tell you he was married, now did he?”

At that, Lagertha has heard enough. This time, she gets up to leave for real.

 “Before you go, I just have one question,” Aslaug calls after her. “Does he still do that swirl thing with his tongue?”

Laughter follows Lagertha as she walks away, shaking with fury.  She’s so is so enraged she considers turning back around to slap the hell out of Aslaug. But it wouldn’t be a good look. More tabloid fodder.

All she wants to do is shower and scrub all of Ragnar Lothbrok off her body. But before she can, her phone rings. She looks at it and groans.

Ecbert.

.

.

She’s seated in the director’s New York office, trying to find the words to tell the man who is her boss that she’s pregnant. It’s even harder because she knows Ecbert is likely to use it to goose his ego and grow the show without any regard for them. It’s what he did last time in exposing them, though he continues to deny it.  There’s a very real possibility she could lose her job—they’ll likely recast the part and she will be out. Working around pregnancies is difficult.  But hell, does she really need it anyway? Want it, yes…but need it…no. So what the hell.

“I’m pregnant.” Its deadpan. She waits for his reaction. It’s not what she expects.

“That’s great news!” He moves from behind his desk to come and clasp her hands in his. “It fits in perfectly for what I have in store for you next season!”

“What do you mean?”

“The scripts are almost done. You’re getting pregnant anyway next season! We can speed up the production schedule a little, call everyone back early if necessary. I’ve worked with pregnant women before, so I get it. We can start filming next month. I figure we’ve got maybe two months to get a couple episodes in,” he says.

“Before what?”

“Before you start showing. But this is good! Really good. Ah…life imitating art…or, art imitating life?” Ecbert gives an exaggerated sigh. When he realizes she’s not playing along he turns serious for a moment.

“We all know about you and Ragnar. Lagertha…I am sorry for what you’re going through. But the show must go on.”

She nods and gets up and walks out.

The show will go on.

.

.

The email notifies the cast of a revised production schedule. They’re all due back in Canada in two weeks, production is being accelerated.  And that means a return to their house, the place they share with Athelstan and Siggy. Once, Ragnar couldn’t wait to get to set, now, he’s dreading going back to it. He doesn’t quite know where Lagertha is—Rollo had spotted her in L.A. a few weeks ago, and that could mean she may be with Siggy. If she is, then she’s close--but he knows better than to go down there.

Athelstan has kept him somewhat informed about how she’s been. But his friend has also kept details to a minimum. Ragnar hasn’t seen or spoken to Lagertha since the fight. And that was a month ago. It’s been a lonely month. She hasn’t returned any of his calls.


	31. Year 2: January

 

**January**

Siggy is already at the house when he arrives. She turns to greet him at the door with a small hug.

“Hey, you. How are you doing?”

He looks at her.

“I’m not taking sides,” she says. “I love you both. Athelstan and I, we both do.”

“I’ve been better. Where is Lagertha?” He doesn’t bother to disguise the anxiety and desperation in the question.

“She’s coming.”

“Is she going to stay here, still? With me?”

Siggy looks at him and bites her bottom lip.

“I honestly don’t know. She hasn’t mentioned moving to me, but I don’t think she’s even gotten to the point to start thinking about it.”

They hear a key in the lock and someone starts cursing. Athelstan walks in.

“Ragnar!” He greets his friend with a slap on the back and a smile, which turns serious.

“It’s good to see you, man. Thank God for being back in Canada and away from the bullshit, right?”

Ragnar nods. With his luck, the bullshit may just follow him.

Athelstan and Siggy are asleep when Lagertha finally comes home. It’s late, and she has timed her arrival in the hopes she can just slip in and slip out. But when she opens the door and steps into the living room, she sees Ragnar sitting on the couch. He looks up and comes to help with her luggage, but she pushes him away.

“I’ve got it. Thanks.”

He ignores her curtness and grabs the bags anyway, carrying them to her room as she follows.

“I want to talk to you.” Ragnar closes the door behind her as she comes in.  

“No.”

Her back is to him, and he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close. She tenses and unwraps his arms turning to face him.

“Can you at least hear me out?”

He takes a seat on the chair in the corner. She sits on her bed looking at him, waiting, her face impassive.

It’s the first time they’ve been in the same room in weeks.  And it’s distinctly uncomfortable. There’s tension between them, and not the kind he wants or likes. “I’ve been trying to get divorced now for almost two years. Aslaug keeps pushing for continuances. We have a son together, Ivar. I haven’t seen him since he was born. I want custody of my kid, and I’m not willing to sign off on anything until there’s an agreement. It’s part of what is taking so long.”

“Why didn’t you trust me? Why didn’t you say something?”

He laughs, but it’s sad and resentful.

“Because if you’d known I was still married would you have taken the risk of being with me?”

“I don’t know. But you never gave me a chance. You took that choice away from me. You made an assumption.”

“You know damn well you would have rejected me. Don’t give me that ‘choice’ shit,” he snaps.  Lagertha  bristles, eyes narrowing.

“ _Don’t_ try to turn this on me,” she hisses, leaning in.  You LIED to me. You had to know how I’d feel about that.”

“I know. It’s _why_ I lied.”

The admission stuns her momentarily. Lagertha looks at Ragnar sitting across from her and starts laughing. She’s laughing to keep herself from being arrested for attempted murder. It’s a circular argument. He seems to realize it and tries to change tacks.

 “Understand something, Lagertha Lowe. I love you. And I’m not the kind of man who says that to every woman he meets. In fact there are only two that I love. Only two who I have _ever_ spoken those words for. You, and my mother—and she gave birth to me. I’ve loved you since the first day I saw you and—I just…I was…”

 _I was what?_ He’s struggling with the words…whether to say it aloud or keep it in.  “I didn’t want you to reject me—not for that reason, and as we got closer, I knew I didn’t want to lose you.”

He’s looking at her intently, urging her to say something in return. To understand. But Lagertha’s face is a mask, her lips are pursed.

They’re quiet for a long time as she weighs his words. She has many questions—ones that have been bouncing around in her head since she saw Aslaug. Women know things. Like what heartbreak and bitterness and resentment look like. Aslaug’s anger was familiar. Lagertha knows damn well Ragnar isn’t being completely honest—not with himself, nor with her.

She studies her ex, focusing on his face while trying to block out other things, memories that make her feel shame.

“What did you do to her, Ragnar?”

He looks up.

Lagertha is as still as a tree, waiting.

The question is eerily prescient in its tone. He thinks she may already know what trigged it. What caused the break. He’s never told anyone—and he doesn’t want to start now.

“Ragnar, I’m waiting.”

 She’s not letting him out of it. And so, he tells her.

“When she told me she was pregnant I…told her to get rid of it.” That’s what he did. What he said. It’s so quiet Ragnar swears he hears a rat pissing outside and he feels even worse when Lagertha’s hand floats down to her belly. He tries to back it up.  

 “I was a different person back then, and the timing was really bad. She said she was on birth control, and I went with it. But, I shouldn’t have.” He should have been more careful. He was reckless. Irresponsible.

It’s _part_ of what Aslaug told her. She knows at least on that point—he’s not lying. Lagertha can imagine exactly how Aslaug felt—regardless of why or how, or who was at fault…it’s shitty. Beyond shitty. It takes two people, and Ragnar’s blaming only one.  

“You _also_ told me she cheated on you,” she starts slowly. “Is _that_ the story you’re sticking with?” It’s important. She has to know the full truth. Ragnar’s entire body changes. He gets up, approaching her slowly.

“ _Who_ have you been talking to?” Ragnar squints at her, his voice dropping to a rumble.  It’s tinged with something dark and Lagertha looks at him defiantly. He’s got no right to be angry, especially over something HE created.

“Your _wife_ ,” she snaps. At that, his eyes go wide and for the first time she sees something new in them. FEAR.

“Lagertha…” He comes to try and embrace her again but she puts her hand in his face and moves off the bed before he can touch her.

“I think you should leave now.” There’s really nothing more for either of them to say.

When her door closes, she locks it and takes a shaky breath.

.

.

_Valdemar makes the annual pilgrimage to Uppsala to pray to the gods. He and his wife are Earls now. Their lives completely changed after one fateful battle. He has been thinking about his legacy lately—what he wants to leave behind from this life, and it has come to him: children. They had not considered children before—too busy with war and adventure. But Lenninok and Ammala have made them reconsider._

_He approaches the statue of Odin and gets to his knees to pray. He prays for children with his wife. He asks that they be like her—strong and brave, bold and defiant. He prays she will live through childbirth to see them, and he asks for favor. He dedicates himself to the service of the All Father, and he vows to follow Odin’s commandments for the rest of his life._

It’s a powerful scene, and Ragnar kneels in his robes at the base of the large statue, his face pressed against the faux-wood. A part of him isn’t acting. He’s agnostic, but right now, he needs all the help he can get, and though it feels a bit silly, he sends up his own prayer to the Norse gods, and to anyone else’s gods that may be listening  to _please_ help him out of the desert he’s now wandering in. His life is screwed sideways. His ex-wife hates him. He has a son he can’t see, and Lagertha hasn’t spoken a word to him since that night. It’s been nothing but cold, hard silence ever since.

It doesn’t help that Donny Hathaway, the O’Jays and Otis Redding are all on repeat as he wallows in his own misery.

.

.

The hour is late when he gets back to the house, and all the lights are off. Walking past Lagertha’s room has become a recent habit. Ragnar always passes her door in the morning or at night, even though she’s on the opposite side of the house.  Sometimes he can hear her rehearsing lines and sometimes she’s talking to Siggy. He doesn’t come to eves-drop, he just misses the sound of her voice.

The door is closed as has become the norm now, but he can hear the muffled conversation inside. Lagertha, Siggy and…a third voice—via phone. Ragnar starts to walk away but something draws him back, and he lingers for just a little longer.

 “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Helga,” he hears Lagertha say. She’s speaking to her agent.

“Well, you’re running out of time. You have exactly one week left before you’re screwed,” Helga says, her voice distorted through speaker phone.

“I know what you _shouldn’t_ do.” That’s Siggy.

“It’s not his choice, Siggy. It’s mine. My body, mine to do with as I choose.”

“Yeah, but…it’s not like you’re the Virgin fuckin’ Mary and there was some immaculate conception. I know Ragnar fucked up—not excusing that-- but Lagertha…he was good while he lasted, and he never did anything terrible, and—please don’t try to have a memory lapse now—but ya’ll were playing fast and loose. I tried to warn you but you wouldn’t listen. So, for lack of a better term, you’re his baby mama. So deal with it.”

“Think of your _career_ ,” Helga says over speaker phone. “You need to make a practical choice. You’re hot right now, and everyone wants to know everything about you. You won’t be able to hide. Have you told Caroline?”

“Of course she did.” Siggy.

“All I’m saying is, if you need to make arrangements, you’ll have to tell her about this too. She does damage control better than anybody. You know that,” Helga says.

His feet suddenly feel incredibly heavy. And his heart is racing as he leans in closer to the door…

“Screw what other people say. What’s it going to do? We’ve got the highest rated show in network TV—and that’s because of you and Ragnar. Network will work around it.”

“Not so fast,” Helga interrupts. “There’s an ongoing campaign to boot the show off air for ‘morality causes’. It’s been growing recently with the whole Ragnar affair thing. This is a hard right group—family values and all that. And they’re getting louder, too. A pregnancy only makes it that much worse. Now they’ll get to crow about a baby bastard—sorry, Lagertha.”

“Well if that’s the case then the only thing people would be watching on TV is dead air! It’s Hollywood! _Everyone_ has affairs.” Siggy’s exasperated.

“Yeah, but how many of them get caught and how many get pregnant?” Helga again.

“Elizabeth Taylor did it. Look Lags, you know me. I’m all women’s lib and that shit. But, answer these questions: One- Do you love him?”

“He lied to me.”

“You’re not answering the question. Ignore the lie for a minute. Do you love that man?”

Ragnar presses his face closer to the door, waiting for the answer.

A sigh.

“Were you happy when you found out?”

“I thought he was being honest with me—that we were honest with each other.”

“ _Still_ not answering the question—were you happy?”

“…yeah. I was.”

“Then, to me, there’s your answer. You can put him on child support and work out a custody arrangement. And for the record, I TOLD you from the get-go to use protection. So again—not all Ragnar’s fault. You _let_ him do it. So there you go. I gotta go meet Athelstan for dinner. I’ve said my peace.”

“You won’t get much in child support. Aslaug is already riding him on that,” Helga chimes back in.

“I don’t want his money, I have my own.” Lagertha retorts.

He takes a step back when he hears footsteps but there’s nowhere for him to go when the door swings open and Siggy bumps into him.

She looks up at him stunned, then looks back at Lagertha sitting on the bed and ducks around and out the door, leaving them to face each other alone.

They stare at each other.  

“What?”

“You can’t be serious.” He comes closer to her, sitting down next to her on the bed. She’s cross-legged. Her cell phone in her lap.

“Helga, I’m going to have to call you back.” The line goes dead.

“Were you even going to talk to me?” His eyes go to her belly and he reaches out to touch it, seeing the little bump there. She slaps it away.

 “I was leaning toward no,” Lagertha says and it lands like a hammer on his heart.

“Why not?”

“What for? _You_ aren’t the one pregnant. Do you even really care? After all you told Aslaug to get an abortion.”

“You’re _not_ her.” He reaches for Lagertha again but she twists away. “DON’T touch me.”

It’s a quiet conversation. A hard one. And he’s feeling so many different things. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. And he can’t believe she’s seriously considering it.

“Do you know what happens to pregnant actresses? They get sidelined. Do you know what happens to pregnant actresses who get caught in affairs? They don’t work. So tell me why in God’s name I should let you have any more say over my future? My career? You’ve pretty much already ruined both.”

“Because it’s mine as well and I want it, and I know you do too. You’re mad at me, not at the baby, Lagertha. Can you give me a chance? I’m not leaving. I want to be a father and I know you want to be a mother.  We’re _supposed_ to do this together. Please don’t throw it away. Don’t throw us away.”

He’d been so happy when she told him, so excited for this. Still excited about this. And the thought that she would even consider letting it go…he doesn’t understand. Their baby was created in love.

Ragnar’s eyes are darting from her face to her stomach and there’s hurt and hope written in them. His lips are drawn, eyes bright. The expression nearly kills her.

She knows he misses his son. And even though Ragnar’s managed to crush her, she’s finding she can’t do the same to him, because despite everything he is correct in that she wants this baby. But she’s also  tired. It’s been a long few weeks.  While she is still angry, it’s not as hot as it was, and it’s beginning to morph into something far worse—regret.  

Lagertha lays back quietly, stretching out on the bed.

“Do you want to touch?” She asks with resignation.

“Yes.” A soft whisper.

“Then touch.” Ragnar is still the father, and she doesn’t have the heart to deny him knowing his heartbreak over his son. It wouldn’t be right. And she’s not that kind of person.

He takes off his shoes and comes to lay next to her, raising her shirt so he can lay his head on her belly. The touch is intimate and gentle, and it feels just…right. Even despite everything, he still feels so right. And it makes her feel that much worse.  She hasn’t cried throughout this whole ordeal, but her eyes start to water.

Ragnar looks up to see the tears. His fingers caress the firmness of her belly, marveling at the tiny changes in her body. The bump, still barely visible. His baby. His kisses it. Rubs it gently. Talks quietly to the life inside. He tries to hear what’s going on in there. It’s what he wants, always. What he wants with her. It’s something Aslaug denied him.

“I’m so sorry, dove” he says moving up to kiss her, but Lagertha turns her face away. He’s too close, they’re too close and it pains her to know she loves him and that she’s powerless to do anything about that. While it wasn’t easy to walk away and divorce Kalf, she had done it with no regrets. She and Ragnar aren’t married, but it feels as if they are—she’s closer to him than any other person. The feeling of powerlessness only adds to the storm inside her heart, and she knows, and he does too, exactly what’s about to happen.

“Please look at me,” he whispers, fingers on her face, gently turning her head to face him. She closes her eyes so she at least won’t have to look at Ragnar as his lips meet hers, making them tingle.  Slowly, the rest of his body touches hers as well as he begins to remove her clothes, and then his own.

 She shudders silently and bites her lip when he gets inside her, and his movements are slow, his thrusts long and deep.

It’s like torture.

“I love you, dove. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Ragnar whispers to her, kissing her face over and over again as he makes love to her, and she starts to cry. He’s made her cry before—the night they first came together. The night they made their baby.

 But those were tears of joy, of happiness. And the ones being shed now are full of grief and sorrow.

There’s no comfort here, just pain, and his sex is only serving to rub more salt in a raw and open wound. But this is the only thing Ragnar knows to do to try and fix it and show Lagertha he cares and that he loves her. Yet even as her body responds to him, the look on her face breaks him, and he buries his head into her neck as he makes love to her, trying desperately to sex the pain and hurt away, and to hide his tears.

She’s the closest thing to happiness he has, and she’s carrying his child and it kills him to think how likely its becoming that he could lose another family, in much the same way he lost the first.

“Please don’t do it.” His voice cracks.

“I’ll do anything you want…anything…” it’s pleading…begging. And he would. If she told him to fuck off a cliff, he’d go right now and jump.  “I love you so much…I love our family…I want to be a family. I want us to be together.”

Lagertha moans, and he opens his eyes to see hers closed, tears streaming down her face.  She’s beautiful—she’s everything he’s ever wanted and it strikes him…an image so powerful that all he can do is sink inside her and feel his orgasm hit—the image of Lagertha and Ivar and their baby on his farm…

That life. The life he dreams about. His private fantasy.

He feels her body tense and clench around him followed by a deep, husky cry that’s torn between pleasure and pain and as her body trembles in his arms.

They’re coming down. Breathing ragged, uneven.

She turns away from him and curls up.

 _“_ I want to marry you,” Ragnar whispers. “Please, say yes, dove.”

It’s the second time he asks the question. The second time he’s met with silence. But this time, she isn’t asleep.

.

.

The next day, they switch to filming a different scene. Lagertha is home ill.

But when Ragnar comes back to the house Athelstan meets him at the door, and braces him for when he enters.

“She left, today. She moved out.”

_She moved out._

He goes to see for himself, and finds her room empty.

When he gets to his own, there’s an envelope on his bed. He opens it, and there’s a photo. It’s a picture of their baby.  Sixteen weeks old. Four months.

he packs a bag and grabs a tent and leaves for his cabin by the lake. There’s so much going on in his head and he just needs…a moment to try and sort it all out. It’s a lot to process.

The night is cold and it’s just Ragnar and the sounds of crickets and lightening bugs. He’s wrapped in a blanket, barefoot, seated next to his fire. So many nights of his youth were spent exactly like this. Just him, a fire and the bugs. Farm life. Now he holds the picture of his baby is in his hands.

Iowa and the farm. Thousands of acres of land surrounded by rolling hills, green and lush for miles around.  All that life—from cattle and sheep to horses, the thrill of new calves and foals…he digs his toes into the dirt, feeling its softness under his feet. It brings him a sense of calm and well-being for the moment, and he relaxes and retreats into his dreams of home. He sees Lagertha calling to him to come inside with a smile, little children clutching her legs. Somewhere in the distance, a phone is ringing…and ringing…and ringing…it’s interrupting his vision, and his family begins to fade in front of his eyes. He runs to them, trying to save the image, but as he reaches out, they disappear in his hands.

A loud crash in the trees wakes him early in the morning and he looks around, momentarily disoriented. The lake. He’s at the lake.

 The fire has gone out and he’s on the ground, still wrapped in the blanket. But now he thinks he has found the answer he’s been searching for. Ragnar goes to the tent and rustles around in his backpack until he finds his phone. It’s only got one bar, but it’s enough. His eyes and fingers scroll through the various apps until he finds the one he’s looking for. Messaging… he stares intently at the screen as he starts going back…hoping he’s saved them…

And there they are.

All of Aslaug’s messages. All of her recordings…

He places the first call to his sorry ass attorney.  

“You’re fired.”

The second call is to Ecbert.

“I need a lawyer,” he says. “A good one.” It’s time to get this thing gone. It’s going on two years too long.

Lagertha was still wearing the necklace last night that he gave her. She’s worn it every day since her birthday.  


	32. Year 2: February Part 1

**February**

_It’s winter, and they’ve passed the time staying warm by making love. The great hall is empty, save for the two of them, and Shreya rolls over to face her husband, snuggling closer to him in the bed. She traces Valdemar’s face, his eyes, his lips, and she replaces her fingers with her mouth. He moans against her lips and slowly his eyes open to see her._

_She smiles._

_“My wife,” he greets her groggily._

_“My husband, I have news,” she says._

_Valdemar sits up in the bed looking down at her._

_“What is this news?”_

_She lowers her hand to her belly and his eyes follow her movement. He is hopeful, excited…anxious to hear the words he is praying she will say._

_“I am with child.”_

_The flood of emotion overwhelms Valdemar, and all he can do is lower himself to her belly and place gentle kisses on her stomach._

 

Her tears are real as Ragnar lowers his head to kiss her on the stomach. This scene does not call for crying. Lagertha hasn’t spoken to him outside the set in weeks. Not since she moved out. The only words have been their shared, scripted dialogue.  This is the most intimate touch she’s felt from him in just as long. He better thank God for Ecbert’s writing.

Lagertha looks down as Ragnar whispers something on her belly and she realizes he’s talking to the baby. It’s unscripted, and she doesn’t know what he’s saying, only that he’s making her feel deeply conflicted. Ragnar’s been lying. But he’s also been trying.

“Cut! Great stuff, Ragnar, Lagertha, great stuff.” Ecbert walks up to them and she sits up in the bed.

“Thanks, are we moving on to another scene?” She hopes he says yes. This isn’t one she wants to repeat. The director looks at her a long moment, then glances to Ragnar’s back.

“Yes, yes. We got it all in one take, we can move on.”

“Good. I’ll head to wardrobe now.”

At least in wardrobe she can put on her armor, and defend herself from her ex’s little incursions into her heart.

**.**

**.**

Twenty weeks.

There’s a knock on the door of her apartment. It’s close to 11 on a Saturday morning, a rare one with no filming given the accelerated shooting schedule. Lagertha’s been online looking at baby things, trying to figure out what all she needs, what she doesn’t.

“Just a minute,” she calls, slipping on a t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants. They’re getting tight.

When she opens the door, Ragnar is standing there.

 She crosses her arms.

“What do you want?”

“I brought you something. Can I come in?”

Lagertha is wary. He’s been calling and she hasn’t been answering. The only words they’ve exchanged have been on set and even then, when he’s come to her dressing room, she’s purposefully shown him out. It’s been a month since she left the house.

Silently, she opens the door wider letting him in. Ragnar turns and picks up a large box and a bag, carrying both in with him.

“What’s that?” She asks, following him into the spare room.

“A crib.”

A crib.

It makes her heart jump, and she turns away to blink back the sudden tears. Pregnancy has made her emotional. Anything will make her cry. The other day, it was rainbow colored sherbert. The day before, puppies. Today? A PETA commercial. The Sarah McLaughlin song.

He moves to the spare room and she follows him in. “Ragnar, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

He’s on the floor opening the box and pulling out parts.

It just makes her even more upset. Because it’s the image of what they could have been. If he hadn’t lied to her, then maybe they could be here, in this place together, picking out colors, picking out furniture…picking out everything, preparing to welcome a baby. Instead, it’s this.

Lagertha, by herself, preparing to be a single mother, watching her ex work on a crib. An ex she can’t figure out whether she loves or hates, a baby created out of a lie, a situation far from ideal.

“Why are you doing this to me?” She says, fingering her necklace absently. Ragnar has the frame assembled, and he’s tightening the screws on it. He’s been focusing on this so he doesn’t have to look at Lagertha because he knows exactly what’s in her face—he can hear it in her voice.

“Because I made you two promises, dove. I told you I wasn’t leaving. And I’m not. I told you I would be there for you, and I am here. And I _will_ be here, whether you want me or not.”

They fall silent and she looks on while he works. The skeleton of the crib begins to fill in and when it’s done, she gets a good look at it. It’s lovely. An espresso colored sleigh bed crib. The same model she had been admiring online, bought from the same place, too. She hadn’t told Ragnar about it, and for a moment, she marvels at just how similar their thinking is. But she pushes it away.

Still, there’s a tiny crack in the armor around her heart, and Ragnar chips at it even more when he comes to her and puts a hand on her belly. It’s firmer now, and the little bump isn’t so little anymore. She’s starting to show. Her emotions and her hormones are all over the place, likely contributing to this feeling of weakness and just as she’s about to break, something else—the baby flutters around inside her, excited from Ragnar’s touch. He looks at her with wide eyes, and she’s shocked. It's the strongest one she's felt so far. 

“You… felt that?”

He nods and kneels to kiss her belly.

“I love you,” he whispers to it, then looks up at her. “I love you too,” he says getting up and turning to leave. The crack gets larger.

“Ragnar wait.”

“Yes?”

 Lagertha walks out to the living room, sifting through her purse, and pulls out a new photo. She gives it to him.

He squints , trying to determine what he’s looking at. It’s certainly a baby. Bigger now, more clear, and he can make out little arms and legs and a small face.

She points to a spot on the photo, and he frowns a bit. There’s something sticking up…maybe the cord?

“What is that?”

Despite herself, Lagertha laughs. She had asked the same question to the nurse when the woman had pointed to the spot and told her.

"That's your son," she tells Ragnar gently.

His heart jumps. He pulls Lagertha into his body and kisses her, inhaling the smell of her hair.  She wraps her arms around him, her face under his arm and they stay like that, embraced in a hug. 

“How are you feeling, dove?”

“It’s different," she tells him. "My body feels…different. I can’t sleep.” She hasn’t been able to sleep in three months. Not well, anyway. Waking up in the middle of the night, or not falling asleep until late. And now, with a belly, she can’t roll over on her stomach.  Lagertha’s exhausted. The rushed filming schedule hasn’t helped. Neither has her internal conflict. The anger had passed quickly, but the hurt hasn't left. And neither has the love. And its these two emotion that are now tangled bedfellows, fighting with one another for attention and for dominance. 

 “Do you want me to sleep with you?” Ragnar looks down at her head, stroking her hair gently, sensing her hesitation. 

He's known this for a while now.  It’s in her drawn look, her slower movements. It’s part of the reason he came over today. Both to check on her, and to deliver the crib. He can’t stand being apart from Lagertha and the baby and if he can help her, he wants to. If she’ll let him. So far, she hasn't.

“I promise I won’t do anything,” he says, holding her hand and walking them to the couch where he sits, and she curls against him.

Lagertha lays her head on his chest, stretching out her legs. Ragnar’s hands caress her growing belly. He stays still as she drifts off to sleep. He remains wide awake, wondering where they are now in their relationship, what role he’ll get to play in his new son’s life. He wonders if he’ll ever get another chance to be something more to Lagertha than just a pillow. And he wishes he could rewind and go back a year, to that first conversation—and tell her the truth, and let fate fall where it will. But he can’t. They can’t.

At least she has allowed him this. And so it's what he has no choice but to accept.

He just has to keep trying. And he’s buoyed by the fact that she’s still wearing the necklace.


	33. Year 2: February Part 2

_Shreya is five months into her pregnancy, and these have been blissful, wonderful months. There have been no wars, no battles. Just peace. And they’ve longed for peace. But their happiness is interrupted when they hear the horns blow._

_Valdemar quickly slips into his armor and picks up a sword as their forces start to mobilize outside the great hall. Shreya grabs her armor along with her weapons and goes to stand next to her husband._

_“You shouldn’t fight,” he tells her, worriedly, a hand on her stomach as they quickly appraise their warriors._

_“We live by the sword and we die by it, husband. And If we die, we will go together.”_

_._

_._

They’re four episodes in, filming as fast as they can, but Lagertha is now showing. She’s at five months and all of her clothes are too tight. The costume department is having to work around that by pulling pieces from other actors’ wardrobes to re-create hers. It’s getting harder to disguise what’s becoming more visible every day.

The cast is rehearsing for the first major battle scene of the season, and Lagertha is finding she can’t keep up.  

It’s frustrating. Everything feels so heavy. Their small group is at a studio in town rehearsing the fight sequences—her, Siggy, Athelstan and Ragnar.

Ragnar has been trying to keep his distance, but he can tell Lagertha is having problems. Her timing is off, and he can now see the bump on her belly under her clothes. So busy is he watching her, that he misses his own cue and promptly gets knocked on his ass. Lagertha misses a block and the stunt coordinator makes direct contact with her stomach, knocking her down. Hard.

He jumps up to his feet and grabs the man by the shirt, backing him quickly into the wall. He’s pissed. 

“ _Don’t_ touch her.” he says it and he means it. The coordinator puts his hands in the air.

“I didn’t do anything! I’m sorry!” Lagertha gets to her feet and comes over, putting an arm on his shoulder.

“Ragnar.” She speaks his name, and he bucks at the coordinator, scaring him just a little before letting him go. He turns to Lagertha.

“You’re _not_ doing that sequence,” he says crossing his arms. He’s stood back long enough, giving her space. But now he’s dead serious. And she knows it. That doesn’t mean she likes the fact he’s suddenly gone all cave man on her.

“I can do the sequence. It’s not an issue.”

“It’s an issue for me. I don’t want you to get hurt. He lowers his voice. “I don’t want the baby to get hurt.” One hand reaches for her and she pushes it away forcefully.

“I’m NOT going to get hurt, and who are you to suddenly be so damned concerned about my welfare?” Now she’s getting angry.

But he is too. Before he can reply Siggy and Athelstan step between them, quickly diffusing the fight before it goes any further. Athelstan grabs Ragnar and pulls him away as Siggy gets ahold of Lagertha.

“Maybe you should consider a stunt double Lags,” she says gently. “He’s got a point. Remember you’re pregnant. You shouldn’t be doing half the stuff you’re doing anyway.”

It’s true. There’s a list of things she’s not supposed to be doing. But the script calls for them. Before she was pregnant it was easy and fun. Now, not so much. She’s used to freedom of movement and its becoming increasingly restricted the bigger she gets.

Ecbert walks in right as both sides are huddling in corners.

“What did I miss?” He asks. They all fall silent. The poor coordinator is still shaking. “I didn’t mean to knock her down. Shit, man,” he says running his hand nervously through his hair.

Ecbert looks at Lagertha as if he’s seeing her for the first time. His eyes fall on her stomach, and then go to Ragnar and Athelstan, and Siggy.

“We need to make some decisions, folks. Lagertha, I’m getting you a double.”

“What? Ecbert no, it’s not a problem, really.”

He holds his hand up.

“It is a problem, actually. I just left legal. The network feels you’re too much of a risk right now. So you’re sidelined. Close up shots, waist up. We’ll find you a stand-in, but we can’t let you do any of the action shots.”

Seeing the crushed look on her face, his softens a bit.

“I am sorry Lagertha. But you can’t do them. Not until after. We’re doing our best to protect you two as much as we can, but there are a lot more people on set now, and I’ve been told to tell the both of you…” he looks at Ragnar as well, “…to try and figure this out. Because Lagertha, you’re only going to get bigger, no offense there—but…”

“You can stop now, Ecbert.” Lagertha’s voice is flat and hard. “I get it.”

He moves to say something else, but one look at Ragnar silences him. The director walks out.

She’s so mad she wants to slap them both. Instead, she turns and picks up her water and her towel before leaving, feeling completely ganged up on and sidelined. This is her work. It’s what she takes pride in and gets pleasure from. And now, in an instance, Ragnar has denied her both. She hates him fully in the moment. And she knows she won’t be able to hide her pregnancy for much longer.

But she also knows they’re right.

Once home, Lagertha settles on her couch and drinks some water, one hand rubbing her belly. She can feel the flutters inside, so much stronger now, and it brings a tiny smile to her face. One good thing, at least, out of months of bad.

.

.

The fight scene is brutal and badass. She’s just mad she’s not in it as she sits on the sidelines, watching Siggy kick ass. Her friend is a beast, and as Siggy drops and kicks out with her legs to trip her opponent, Lagertha smiles with a little pride—she taught Siggy that one.

Athelstan looks great too, all bossed out in his armor and taking names, and she knows it’s going to come out well. Grudgingly, she also admits her stunt double is doing a pretty good job too.

The giant catapult built specifically for the set is rolled out and starts lobbing “rocks” in the air, and a second comes out. It’s pretty spectacular, actually, watching the scramble.

Lagertha is so caught up in the action, she doesn’t see one of the “rocks” misfire, and when she does catch it—it’s too late, as she and the group of people she’s with are struck by the heavy object, knocking them all down, and her onto her stomach.

 There’s a stinging burst of pain that emanates from her belly and she automatically curls in on herself. It hurts, and she can barely breathe.

There’s panic all around but the only thing she can concentrate on is herself. Everything is spinning. And it keeps spinning. It’s like the worst cramps she’s ever felt, so intense and coming so hard and fast…

“Help…”

There’s the faint wail of sirens in the distance and she hears nothing but white noise as her ears begin to ring.

“Help…”

Ragnar sees the impact, and watches as Lagertha and a few other people go down. His heart drops, and he takes off at a run, pushing through the throng of people to get to her. By the time he gets there, she and three others are on the ground and Lagertha’s curled up, her hands on her belly, crying.  He kneels down to pick her up carrying her to the waiting ambulance. He climbs in.

“We’re right behind you,” Siggy tells him running up as the doors close. He just nods as they ride away fast, feeling everything and nothing at the same time.

Two other ambulances arrive shortly after and take the others, and when they’re all gone, and the immediate urgency has passed, there’s 100 people left standing, looking at each other trying to figure out how the scene had gone so horribly wrong.

.

.

All he’s done for the past hour is pace the halls, one hand on his chin, the other across his chest. Siggy and Athelstan have arrived and the three of them are waiting. Waiting for news, waiting for anything really. Something.

When the ambulance arrived they took Lagertha away from him, and a nurse stopped him as he tried to follow, asked him who he was.

“She’s my…”

What is she exactly? Not his wife. Not his girlfriend—he’s never called her that. Not his fiancé…partner isn’t personal enough.

 “I’m the father.”

An identifier.

He’s already preparing himself for the worst. Even just thinking about it makes his eyes hot, and he tries to blink it away. But he can’t shake the image of Lagertha on the ground in tears.

Siggy and Athelstan and sitting together hand-in-hand. They look at each other and at Ragnar who hasn’t stopped moving since they arrived. She sighs and rests her head on Athelstan’s shoulders, remembering when it was them who were in nearly an identical position. They share the grief of their friends.

“I miss Thyri,” she whispers to Athelstan, and he looks down at her, and gives her a kiss. It’s the first time she’s spoken their daughter’s name aloud. Their lost baby.

“I do too. I think of her every day.” Athelstan holds her tight a moment. “Are you going to be okay here? I think I need to take Ragnar.”

They both look at him, still dressed in costume. He’s got one arm across his chest, the other resting on his chin and he’s been pacing in the same spot since they got here.

“Get him,” Siggy says. “I will call when the doctors come.”

 “Let’s go talk. Siggy, call us when the doctor’s come back,” Athelstan says coming up to Ragnar. He blinks a few times, and nods mutely as they go down the hall and out the door.

“What were you thinking?” Athelstan has been silent these past few months, watching and observing the situation close up, yet slightly apart. He has heard it from one side only—Siggy and Lagertha, and really he’s been feeling some type of way toward Ragnar for a while now, but he’s been trying to give the man the benefit of doubt. This isn’t the best of times—it’s quite possibly the worst time, but Athelstan just doesn’t understand.

All of this tragedy, from a lie that should never have been told in the first place.

“I was just trying to hold on to her,” Ragnar says as they walk. He’s looking ahead, there, but not quite.  

“Did you get her pregnant on purpose?”

“Yes.”

Athelstan is silent.

“Ragnar, she’s not going to just bounce back to you, you know that right? You got it for free the first time. And you’ll have to earn it the second.”

It’s the best advice he can give. Ragnar just looks at him. The phone rings and they hurry back inside.

The doctor has come out and he gives it to them straight.

“She’s too far along for a D&E…”

“Oh God…” Siggy cries quietly into Athelstan’s shoulder and he holds her tight, knowing exactly what’s coming.  

“What does that mean?” Ragnar asks. “The doctor looks at him with the schooled training of someone accustomed to delivering bad news.

“Her water broke prematurely. It was too early. The fetus…didn’t survive. We’re inducing her labor.”

He still doesn’t understand. “What are you saying? How is she going to…if…”

Oh no….

“Can you put her to sleep?” It comes out quietly, and he’s trying hard to hold on to the little control that remains…but its slipping fast, and the doctor shakes his head.

“No. It’s too dangerous if she’s asleep. You can see her now, though. I’m sorry. There wasn’t anything we could do.”

Lagertha’s eyes are red and puffy from crying, and when they let him into her room, she’s just staring at the wall. Her vitals beep on the monitors nearby. She looks like an angel to him, and he goes over and sits next to her in the chair, holding her other hand and resting one of his on her stomach.

“Sorry,” rings hollow to him. It’s not good enough for what he feels, what he’s done. Remorsefulness. Grief.  He’s tired. He tried.

Ragnar rubs her belly gently, careful not to inflict any more pain on her than he already has. All he’s done to Lagertha is drag her down, drag her name through the mud. Maybe he should just quit the show. Walk away from it all. Get his shit together first, and try again later on…

He doesn’t realize he’s been speaking out loud until he feels her hand clasp his.

“No.”

She’s looking at him, shaking her head weakly.

“Don’t leave me.”

Because he would be doing exactly that if he walked away. Leaving her to face the storm alone.

Two orderlies walk in.

“It’s time.”

Lagertha grips his hand and he bends down to kiss her on the forehead. She’s afraid. It’s all over her face.  “I’m not going anywhere,” he says.

Ragnar keeps her hand in his as they head to the operating room.

And he’s still holding on to her as they start the induction. It’s a small mercy when they give Lagertha an epidural, and he holds her still through it. But it can’t compare to what they feel when she has to labor and push.

Each one is like a lash to his back.

Every grunt, every cry of hers is like someone tearing out his heart. He’s trying to stay strong for her, and she grips his hand so hard he feels the pain—it’s blessed, welcome…taking him away from himself and forcing him to focus on Lagertha.

The head emerges.

“Push,” the doctor directs.

The shoulders come too.

“One more.”

She strains from the exertion and falls back exhausted. But it’s done. Ragnar sees his son before she does. He sees the baby emerge from her, extrodinarily tiny, way too small…physically perfect…but very blue.

They offer him to Lagertha but she turns away, tears streaming down her face in silence.

They offer him to Ragnar and he takes the baby, looking into the tiny face, caressing the little features. Two eyes, a tiny nose, precious lips…ten fingers, ten toes. Almost weightless. He remembers how Ivar had opened his eyes and looked at him and how he’d fallen in love with his son in that moment.

 And he knows even now, that he’s in love with this one too…and it kills him to know he can’t take this one home either.

A single tear falls on a small chest.

And another.

Failure.

He closes his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to get control. The baby is so light. Barely two pounds with skin so translucent…Ragnar walks him over to Lagertha.

“Do you want to hold him, dove?”

She’s buried her face in her pillow, but at the sound of Ragnar’s voice, she turns to him, seeing the bundle he’s holding, and despite herself, she nods. He passes her the baby, and she gets her first look, touching the tiny fingers…the little toes.

23.5 weeks.

Just two more and maybe they could have made it.

Why couldn’t he live? Live for her…live for Ragnar? Live for both of them?

They stay there, trying to cling to what hope they had before the physician comes to take their son away. She pulls back from the doctor, not wanting to let go, clutching him closer. And it falls to Ragnar to coax the child from her arms.

“He’s just sleeping, dove.” He tells her, softly. “Can I have him?” Lagertha’s eyes look into his, and he breaks.

Because she knows he’s lying. And he knows he’s lying. But it’s the best he can say because, what else is there to do? 

 They cling to one another, united in tragedy.

That night, Lagertha breaks down in his arms, sobbing hard as he gently strokes her hair, trying and failing to soothe her. She’s inconsolable and so he simply holds her until she cries herself to sleep.

He can’t help but think this is all his fault. 

A nurse comes in the morning with paperwork.

It’s February 22.

They are issued a certificate of fetal death.

They were hoping for a birth certificate. Still, he signs his name. And she does too.

.

.

**“On-Set Tragedy Threatens to Derail Season 2 of ‘Shield-maiden’s Tale’”**

**Feb. 23, 2017 Toronto, Canada—** _An on-set accident has landed ‘Shieldmaiden’ star Lagertha Lowe and three other people in intensive care. She is reported to be in stable condition._

_It’s the latest setback for the 28-year-old actress who has allegedly been in a relationship with her married co-star, Ragnar Lothbrok. Producers and medical officials are keeping mum about Lowe’s injuries. Production on Season 2 has been accelerated, and Lowe has been replaced in several fight scenes with a body double—a questionable decision by producers given her stated love of filming such scenes._

_Production on the show has been halted for the next several weeks as cast and crew try to recover._

_Writer and director Ecbert Wessex says, “we’re trying to look out for the health and safety of our actors and employees.”_

_It has been suggested Lowe may be pregnant. The show’s parent company issued the following statement:_

_“We respect our employees, and consider this a work place accident. It is being investigated according to industry regulations. Our sympathies extent to Ms. Lowe. We do not comment on rumors and speculation.”_

_Meanwhile, Lothbrok’s divorce from model Aslaug Sigurdsdottir continues to be mired in the L.A. County Court system. The relationship between Lowe and Lothbrok has been strained since it was first revealed he is married. Several sources have claimed the actress was unaware of Lothbrok’s marriage when the two began dating. Neither has ever confirmed nor denied a relationship._

[www.ET.com](http://www.ET.com)

.

.

“Lagertha, talk to me. I’m your mother.” It’s Caroline, calling from New York. She’s been calling since the accident. And each time the phone has rang, Lagertha has ignored it. But this time, Ragnar has picked it up and handed it to her, leaving the room.

“Mom…” Her voice cracks from overuse and grief. She really doesn’t know what to say.

Caroline hears it in her daughter’s voice. She doesn’t need to hear anything else.

“I’ll be there tonight.”

Caroline’s heart is racing as she barks orders to her staff while gathering her computer and her shoes and her jacket.

“Helga, flag every reference to Lagertha—track it. I want to know what’s being said, what’s going out—who is reporting what. Block it, obfuscate, I don’t fucking care. Get on the phone with the studios, with Ecbert—tell that bundle of sticks I will have his ass if he leaks. There _is_ nor was there _ever_ a pregnancy or a miscarriage. Understand? Kill this story before it goes any further!”

She’s out the door and heading straight to the airport. There is no stopping at home for anything. Her daughter is in trouble and Lagertha is the only thing she has.

Caroline hates Ragnar, and for his sake, he better not be there when she shows up or there will be hell to pay. She doesn’t even want to see that bastard accidentally because who knows what _accident_ will befall him if she does.

.

.

“Ragnar, come home,” Siggy says gently, touching his arm.  “Lagertha’s mom is on the way.”

“I’ll stay here,” he says. He’d only come out long enough to tell Siggy and Athelstan they could go home.

“No…you don’t understand. Caroline…is angry. At you. You really don’t want to be here when she arrives,” she says feeling horrible for having to be the one to tell him this. But the look he gives her is one of pure hate.

“I’m staying. And I don’t give two shits about what Caroline says or does. Who the hell is she, anyway?”

He storms back into Lagertha’s hospital room. She’s awake and looks at him when he comes through the door. But just the sight of Ragnar starts to make her cry all over again, and when he comes to the bed, she turns away from him.

 “Go away.”

His hand pauses over her side.

“I don’t want to go away…” it’s quiet, a whisper.

“Please, just go away. Leave. Me. Alone.”

“Lagertha, you don’t mean that.”

 But she turns back to him, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy with a look of absolute hate and disgust.

“GET OUT! I SAID GO AWAY!!”

Her voice carries down the hall and a nurse appears at the door.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Reluctantly, he does.

And when he gets back home, the first thing he goes to is a bottle--taking it down straight until mercifully, everything becomes black.


	34. Year 2: February Part 3

Caroline arrives and she and Siggy help get Lagertha out of the hospital and settled back at her apartment. She curls up in her bed and goes to sleep and the two other women walk out and into the living room.

Lagertha’s mom goes to the wine cabinet and pulls out a bottle, bringing two glasses with her as she settles on the couch.

“How the hell did this happen?” Caroline demands as soon as they settle on the couch.

“A set accident.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about everything else,” she demands popping the cork and filling up the glasses, handing one to Siggy.

Siggy settles next to her.

“What of the…sperm donor. Where is he?”

“At the house.”

“mmmm…..” Caroline takes a drink. “Tell me about him. What _don’t_ I know about …him already? Because what I _do_ know, I don’t like.” She refuses to even call Ragnar by his proper name.

Siggy crosses her legs. “Well, not defending him, but…he does love her. My---Athelstan, believes that too. And she loves him. At least she did before all this happened. I think she still does.”

“WHY does she love him, though? He’s completely beneath her. Siggy, I’m not trying to be funny here—but is she really in love, or is she in lust? Because they look alike in the beginning.”

“I think they meant to do it,” Siggy tells her. “And I don’t think it was lust.” Caroline just shakes her head.

When Lagertha wakes up, her mother is sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Mom…” It’s still the only thing she can say as she cries hard into Caroline’s arms.

“Shh, Aga,” Caroline says, rocking her daughter. “I know it hurts.”

.

.

The first two days are quiet. Lagertha goes from her bed to the bathroom and back. Caroline allows it. But on the third day, she makes her daughter get up.

“Stop moping.” Caroline opens the windows, letting the light in. Lagertha groans and rolls over, trying to bury herself under pillows. But Caroline snatches them away. “Get up.”

She doesn’t like what she sees. “I didn’t raise you to be weak. Get. The. fuck. _up_.”

Lagertha sits up in bed, glaring at her mother.

“Why won’t you let me grieve?”

“You can grieve. But you can’t stay as you are. This is life. It knocks you down. You get back up. Your heart breaks, you move on. You’re _not_ dead. You _survived_. And with respect to _Ragnar_ …” she spits the name. “There are plenty of others. YOU need to get moving. WE need to get moving. For the sake of your career.”

“I don’t care about that.”

‘Yes you do. You’ve worked too hard to let some raggedy ass bastard with a wandering cock break it down. Now, _get up_. I’ve got a plan and you’re _going_ to recover.”

“How?” Lagertha asks.

“I found you a beard.”

“Hell no!”

“Hell yes! We _have_ to change the narrative Lagertha. YOU have to change the narrative. I don’t know if you quite realize the situation. Right now your network is considering shutting you guys down. The accident is only the latest. You two have caused…a situation. And I _know_ Helga told you about the protests. We have to fix it. _You_ have to fix it if you want to keep working in this industry. Because if you can’t, you won’t be hired again. I’m fighting off pregnancy rumors left and right and I need an _out_.”

Seeing the hurt expression on her daughter’s face, Caroline softens.

“Aga…just do this one. It won’t be long, I promise. I’ve arranged for a photographer to take a picture of you two. We HAVE to stop these rumors because soon, they won’t be rumors anymore. LET me do my job. LET me save your career, unless you want to throw it out too. I don’t want you to lose everything you’ve worked so hard for over a man—especially one who’s not worth the pot he pisses in.”

Lagertha just nods. Silent.

.

.

It’s been a week, and she’s managed to drag herself out and is presently sitting outdoors at a Toronto bar, waiting. Her stomach has dropped, but there’s still a bump there, so she’s disguised it with a layered look and loose fitting harem pants with small-heeled sandals. The bleeding continues, and sitting is uncomfortable. Her body is still very sore, and this is the last place she wants to be. But she has to do this. She has to get the talk to stop. One hour. One hour and she can go home.

A man walks up to her.

“Are you Lagertha?” She looks at him. Tall, dark haired and clean cut—a nice build and kind, brown eyes. Normal.

“Hi, I’m Tim. You’re mom sent me.” She smiles tiredly and reaches out to shake his hand. He takes a seat beside her.

“Hi Tim. Yes, I’m Lagertha.”

He smiles. “I could tell. You look exactly like your mother.”

It’s a compliment. She’s heard all her life about how much she and Caroline look alike. When she was younger, it used to bother her. Now that she’s older, she’s come to accept that Caroline will look forever 22, even though she turns 52 this year.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks taking up the menu in front of them. “Sure,” she agrees, already knowing the game. She catches the photographer standing outside in the corner of her eye. There’s a flash through the window and she leans in closer to Tim, smiling. The trained smile of an actress. Because that’s what she’s doing tonight.

Acting.

“Thanks for the beard.”

He laughs.

“So where did my mother find you?” Lagertha asks.

“I’m a screenwriter under your mom’s firm.”

Tim…now the name sounds familiar.

“Tim…Nungesser? You wrote ‘Heavens’. I loved that movie.”

“Thanks. I’m glad someone did.”

They stay for exactly an hour. And while she is enjoying the conversation, she’s also exhausted.

Time’s up.

“I think I’m supposed to take you home now,” he says. She smiles and he does.

They depart at her apartment door.

“Thanks Tim. I’m sure you’ll probably have to see me a few more times.”

“I don’t mind,” he grins. “Bearded work is still work. But, you’re making it feel easy.”

.

.

Caroline left a day before, and when Lagertha  walks inside her door she stops. Ragnar’s there, in the living room, waiting.

“How’d you get in?”

“Siggy gave me a key. How was your date?”

She stiffens.  “None of your business.”

He holds up his hands in a peace gesture. “Look, I get it. I understand. You can’t be seen with me, and I’m not judging you. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

The couch is calling and she goes to it, taking off her shoes. Her body still hurts—it’s only been a week since the accident and a lot has happened. The bottoms of her feet are red and burning.

Ragnar settles next to her. “C ’mere, Dove.” She’s exhausted. Trying to keep up the appearance of being happy and uncaring all evening has taken its toll. Being with Tim was not unpleasant but she knows she wasn’t ready for it. Six days out and yet she’s supposed to act as if nothing is wrong while everything is wrong.

Lagertha leans into Ragnar’s arms and lays her head on his chest. She hasn’t seen him since she kicked him out of her room at the hospital. And it feels as if the loss happened just yesterday. Grief overrides any other emotion. This time she lets him hold her as tears fall quietly. Ragnar’s own eyes are hot. He wanted this baby. Wanted it with her. Now he doesn’t know if he’ll get another chance to try. But he made her a promise, and he’s trying to keep it.

“You’ll have more,” he tells her gently, fingers gently stroking her hair. It’s meant to be encouraging, but it doesn’t bring comfort.

 “I don’t want more, I want _him_.” A choked sob. She buries her face in his chest, hands gripping his shirt. 

 _Him_.

They’re pretty, perfect baby boy. When Ragnar closes his eyes, his son is all he sees.

 “Can we get out of here?” he whispers, rocking her slowly. “Let me take you out of here.”

“I don’t trust you.” It’s muffled against the fabric. He feels the wetness on his chest.

 “I know you don’t.”

A sniffle.

“Where are you going?”

“Iowa. I’m going back—to clear my head. I want you to come with me, to get you out of here, too. But I won't leave if you don't come with me.”

Because he’s not planning to abandon her to face this alone. Ragnar looks down at Lagertha, still against him. She raises her face to his, and he sees the red rimmed, puffy eyes and runny nose.

“What happens if someone finds out?” The fear.

“We’ll take a private plane. The farm is in the middle of the state. No one will find out. I can promise you, that.”

She can’t go to New York. He can’t go to California. And neither of them can, or want, to stay here.

Iowa is as good an option as any.

.

.

**Lowe Spotted With ‘Heavens’ Writer: Has The ‘Shield-maiden’ Found a New Beau?**

**March 3 Toronto, Canada** \-- _Has Lagertha Lowe found love? The 28-year-old star of “The Shield-maiden’s Tale” was recently spotted at a downtown Toronto bar with writer/director Tim Nungesser, creator of the indie movie “Heavens”. The two appeared looking deep in conversation._

_When asked, Nungesser says he and Lowe are “just friends” a phrase that’s going around a lot when it comes to the actress’s love life. She’s has been romantically linked to her co-star Ragnar Lothbrok who is embroiled in a divorce from his model-wife, and she was previously married to real estate developer Kalf Hedeby._

_Lowe was recently involved in an on-set accident that sent her and several other people to the hospital.  The accident has delayed production on the second season of “The Shield-maiden’s Tale”. But the actress appears to be doing well._

 

[www.allgossip.com](http://www.allgossip.com)


	35. Year 2: March

**March Part 1**

Thirty six hours later, and they’re driving up to Ragnar’s family farm in a rented Jeep. He’s told her about it many times, but once she sees it, she’s speechless. The area is beautiful, all rolling hills and clear blue sky. It’s lush. The air here is different, fresher, and as they clear the gates of the property there is a large herd of cows lazing off to the side. A dark haired man with a slender face and long beard raises his hat to them. He’s mounted on a horse, and Ragnar waves as they drive past.

“Who’s that?”

“Leif. He’s an old friend of my parents. He’s been working here for years,” Ragnar tells her as they keep driving. Fifteen minutes later, they pull up to a large, sprawling ranch house and a short, petite woman with gray hair steps out.

“Raki!”

As Lagertha looks on Ragnar climbs out. He bends down low to embrace the woman, and walks her over to the car as he opens the door for Lagertha. She’s still a bit wobbly, and she holds on to him as he helps her down and out.

“And you must be Lagertha,” the woman says as Lagertha bends down a bit to accept her hug. “I’m Nancy, Ragnar’s mother. Are you two hungry? I just finished dinner.”

Lagertha looks at Ragnar and then at his mom and nods. They have the same sharp blue eyes. The eyes that don’t miss anything.

Inside the house an older man stands to greet them. Ragnar makes introductions.

“Lags, this is my dad, John. John, this is Lagertha,” she shakes his hand as he appraises her.

“Well, looks like you finally picked a good one,” John says impishly, his lips curled in a friendly grin. It’s an expression she knows quite well, and Lagertha smiles back. Clearly, like father like son.

“John!” Nancy throws a piece of lettuce at him and he shrugs, letting out a low chuckle. “You know the boy as well as I do. Just because we got guests don’t mean we got to play pretend.”

Lagertha now knows exactly what John’s contributions to Ragnar were. They share the same salty sense of humor and broad build. John is bald, with a long, dark beard tinged with gray, and bright green eyes. He looks like an older version of Ragnar, and has the same smirk that has often graced his son’s face.

Nancy ushers them all into the kitchen.

“Sit,” she commands, and they do.  Soon, the table is loaded with steaks and potatoes and breads and steamed vegetables. And salads. It all looks so good, and Lagertha doesn’t know where to start. The door to the house opens again and the man Ragnar said was Leif walks in followed by two taller, even bigger versions of Ragnar.

“Raki!” They yell across the room. The drum of feet pounding the floor make the house shake.

Three little boys run up too, and they all grab Ragnar and squeeze him in a giant hug. The little ones wrap themselves around his legs.  Lagertha laughs as he gasps a bit for breath.

“Good to see you guys too,” he manages to wheeze out with a smile before sniffing the air.

“Leif, you smell like cow shit.”

They all crack up at that, and Leif leans down to take off his shoes, carrying them back outside before stopping to wash his hands. Ragnar makes introductions.

“Lagertha, these are my brothers—Roth and Jason.” He bends down to tussle the hair on the little ones.

“And these are my nephews, Matthew, Joey and Charles.”

Roth and Jason move to hug her, but Ragnar steps in. “Sorry, handshakes will have to do, guys.”

They drop their hands. “Sorry about that—we do hugs around here. Nice to meet you,” Roth says with a smile nearly identical to Ragnar’s. “We’ve heard a lot about you—I really liked Gilded Heart,” Jason tells her. She smiles back at them and gives them little hugs in return.

“Us too!” Matthew says and she laughs, bending down gingerly to hug the boys. They all move back to the table where Nancy has laid out a feast.

 “You look familiar,” Leif says, looking at Lagertha as they eat. “Where are you from?” He’s got soft, kind brown eyes, and a handsome face. “You look kind of familiar too,” she says. “I’m from upstate New York. Do you have friends there?” He shakes his head. “I left there about 25 years ago.  Once I did though.” He goes back to his food, glancing up periodically in her direction, brow furrowed in concentration. It’s slightly odd, but she decides to ignore it.

“So how’s Hollywood treating ya’ll?” John asks, in between bites of steak.

“We’ve heard a few things here and there when we go into town,” Nancy adds, working on her own.

“Mom…” Jason cuts his eyes at his parents.

Lagertha wants to just blend into her chair, but Ragnar’s hand on her thigh is firm. He speaks for them.

“It’s been a difficult few months,” he says. “We’ve been…through some things.”

John grunts. “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one. You look like shit, son. I told you not to marry that woman.”

Lagertha takes a moment to look at Ragnar. Really look at him. John is right. He looks weary, drawn. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his usual smirk is missing. The glint that had been so readily apparent in his eyes when they first met is gone. She doesn’t know when it all disappeared, but it has. It wouldn’t register with most other people, he’s still has handsome as ever…but he does looks worse for wear. She feels a bit of guilt for not noticing earlier.

 Stage makeup hides a lot of things. Acting is what they do to disguise the pain.

“Are _you_ doing okay, hun?” Nancy asks leaning across the table.

“Ragnar told us about the accident. We’d been so excited for you two…we’re sorry.”

It makes her eyes fill with tears, and a single one escapes down one cheek. A second one follows it.

“Excuse me,” she says getting up from the table and going outside.

What all has he told his parents? His family? From the conversation it appears they know everything, and she doesn’t know how to feel about that.  A part of her feels…overwhelmed…a bit violated, a bit angry, embarrassed—they speak to her as if they know her…they don’t.

She’s sitting on the porch shivering when Nancy comes out.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” The older woman says. “John and I know how it feels to lose a child. It’s happened to us before.”

Lagertha turns to her.

“What has Ragnar told you about me?” She says quietly.

“Enough to know my son is in love for the first time in his life,” Nancy says, looking at her intently. Ragnar’s eyes. She has to turn away.

“Raki takes after his father in certain ways. John was a wild one. He was married twice before me—always restless. My friends told me to stay away from him. But he didn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘no’,” the older woman casts a sidelong glance at the younger one, taking her own appraisal.

Lagertha is even prettier in person. But she looks haggard. Tired. Her lips are drawn and her eyes are puffy. Stress. Lack of sleep. Grief. Nancy knows the place Lagertha is in very well. She’s been there before. But that’s a conversation for later. When Ragnar told her he was bringing Lagertha home, she wasn’t surprised. From what her son had told her, she knew this girl was far different from the others. For one—her son never really mentioned the others—except Aslaug. And the fact that even after going through so much Lagertha still agreed to come…well. To Nancy, that spoke louder than any words ever could. Because she knows, even if Lagertha and Ragnar don’t, exactly how this will end. Mothers can tell.

Lagertha reminds her of herself.

“John was relentless in his pursuit,” she tells Lagertha, having caught her attention. “He always charming, the perfect gentleman with me. But if you talked to his ex-wives and any of his friends well…he was a holy terror with an emperor-sized list of bad behavior. For some reason though, he decided he wanted to settle down with me. He attached himself and just wouldn’t let go…despite my protests. He’s been a good husband, a devoted one. And we’ve been married more than 30 years.”

A cool breeze slips down from the hills making Lagertha tremble again. Nancy wraps the blanket she came outside with around the younger woman’s shoulders.

“Thank you. But I really don’t know what to say. Or what to think right now,” Lagertha responds quietly. “It’s all just…,” she trials off. But Nancy hears what she doesn’t say.

“I know what Ragnar did. And I will tell you this: You’ve got a right to be mad,” she says firmly. “Raki is my baby, but I’d club him over the head in a heartbeat. We didn’t raise him that way.”

She sees the question her future daughter-in-law is too afraid to ask. So she does it for her. “You want to know why he didn’t tell you about his ex-wife and his son.”

“ _Wife_ ,” Lagertha corrects, bitterness coming through. “He’s _still_ married.”

Nancy scoffs.  “On paper, yes. And we told him not to do that,” she says firmly, lips drawn tight. “That was, nor is, a real marriage. She was wrong from the start. These days you don’t have to marry the girl. But Ragnar’s old fashioned about more than a few things, and he wanted to do what he thought was right. He got that from his father.”

“You met Aslaug?”

“Didn’t have to. I’d be speaking to Ragnar and she’d be yelling in the background asking _who_ he was talking to. They’d get into terrible arguments, and he hates arguing. You can’t force a shoe that doesn’t fit, and she was trying to force him. A woman that needs a man’s validation is no woman at all to _me_. At least _you_ had the good sense to beat him,” Nancy chuckles at the wide-eyed look Lagertha is giving her.

“Oh yes. We heard about that one too. Bjorn called and told us what happened. Heard that lip and eye were swollen for two weeks.”

Despite herself, Lagertha laughs. And so does Nancy. They laugh until she’s wiping laughing tears from her face.

“Let me give you a word of advice, dear. Don’t let other people determine your happiness for you. If you want it, take it. You owe no one any explanation. You might as well be happy as much as you can for as long as you can.”

“Are _you_ happy?”

Nancy leans in close. “I have Raki, John, Roth and Jason. And just so you know…all the boys are _exactly_ like their father. In pretty much all the ways that count, _if_ you follow me,” She winks at Lagertha, making her blush. “And I’ve been happy a long time. Lothbrok men are difficult when they’re young. But when they decide to settle down, they’re very well behaved.”

Roth sticks his head out the door, a buttered roll in hand.

“Ya’ll coming back in? We’re about to start Monopoly.”

Nancy stands up, dusting off her pants.  Lagertha follows her.

It’s the most intense game of Monopoly she’s ever played. Ragnar’s family is vicious—bumping off and bankrupting each other at every turn. Negotiating, cajoling, deliberately deceiving each other to accumulate a stash of cash, hotels and houses on the board. She’s the first one out.

The rest laugh, and Ragnar yawns, looking at the grandfather clock against the wall. It reads the time: 2 a.m.

 “Well folks, I’m out,” he says standing. The rest of the family is still busy building mini-empires. The boys have fallen asleep in the living room watching a movie.

“Suit yourself,” John says not even looking up. “More loot and land for us.”

They all laugh and Ragnar takes Lagertha’s hand, leaving the rest to divvy up his assets among them.

“Good night,” she bids them before following him out of the kitchen, into the living room and down a hall.

“’Night Lagertha,” Leif says, his eyes still on her as they’ve been for most of the day and night.

“I put your bags in here.” Ragnar opens a door to a lovely bedroom decorated with old furniture and antiques.

“It’s my mom’s antique room,” he explains. “The one she reserves for special guests.”

The bed is decorated with a white crocheted blanket, and it smells of wood and pine. He turns to leave but she grabs his hand.

“Wait.”

He looks at her with a raised eyebrow. She takes her finger and lowers it.

“Is it okay if you stay with me?”

Ragnar closes the door, sealing them inside. Quietly Lagertha slips off her pants and her bra as Ragnar unfolds the blankets. She goes to the bathroom to change her pad and comes back, sliding in the bed as he pulls the covers over her shoulders, and takes off his pants and shirt—leaving on just his boxers. He gets in on the other side, but doesn’t touch her. Instead, she reaches for his arm and wraps it around herself, giving him a clue. He rolls over behind her and she spoons herself into his warmth.

He smells like the earth and like sandalwood—a warm smell, comforting and familiar. She feels safe. Secure.

It’s been a long day, and they fall asleep quickly.

.

.

Ragnar is gone when she wakes up, the space beside her cold. Lagertha stretches, but the action makes her gasp out load in pain. Her breasts are sore. Incredibly sore. When she sees them, she winces. The veins are visible and her nipples are hard and angry. Her body hurts, and she’s reminded it’s only been eight days since the miscarriage.

When she does get up she looks at the sheets and her heart sinks. Blood.

One hand rests on her far smaller stomach and she closes her eyes as intense waves of sadness and guilt wash over her. A few long, deep breaths still her nerves, and she braces herself against the pain to go to the bathroom, changing her pad and underwear and struggling into her pants and shirt, forgoing a bra.

The bed is stripped, the stains run under cold water, scrubbed with soap to get it out. She carries the soiled sheets to the laundry room and puts them into the washing machine, getting it started.

 “Hello?”

The house’s silence echoes back to her, so she slips on her shoes and a jacket to go outside.

The family is gathered in and near the barn. John and Nancy are carrying hay bales and Leif is toting some equipment she can’t identify. They see her as she walks up and wave her over.

“Good mornin’” John says in greeting.

“What’s going on?” There’s a lot of movement happening, and she’s curious.

“See for yourself,” he says, waving her inside.

When she walks in she hears whinnying—and her eyes go to the horse on the ground, and Ragnar—his hands smoothing the animal’s large belly. He’s talking to it quietly, and looks up when he sees her.

“Birthing,” he explains and she nods.

The poor animal looks like she’s miserable. The mare’s eyes are wide with fear, looking at Lagertha. And it’s an expression she completely understands.

“Can I touch her? She asks. Ragnar beckons her closer, and she moves over slowly. He guides her hand over to the mare’s stomach and the horse whinny’s again.

“Shh…” he tells it. She won’t hurt you. We won’t hurt you.”

They stay like that a while, before something changes, and the whinny’s grow more urgent.

“It’s time,” he says and she takes a step back. “Can you get Leif?”

She does and comes back with him, watching the two men get the horse in position. Soon, they stand back and Lagertha covers her mouth as the horse begins to push out a foal. It’s covered in a sack and emerges slowly, but then, it stops.

“It’s stuck,” Leif says quietly. “Look there. The shoulder and the other leg.” Ragnar nods and they move in together carefully.

It’s clear the animal is struggling. Leif begins to comfort it, stroking its head as Ragnar wraps his hands around the foal’s leg and starts to pull.

“I need you to push with me,” he tells the mare. This goes on a while and after what feels like eternity,  the rest of the foal begins to emerge until finally, with one more tug, Ragnar is on his ass, a baby horse on the ground in front of him.

He scoots back quickly and gets to his feet as the mare stands, pulling off the sack and revealing her foal for the first time.

It’s all spindly legs, stark white, and skinny, ears pinned back. Nancy and John enter the stable and they all watch as the baby gets to its feet, and promptly stumble. Lagertha laughs.

“You’ll get it,” she says softly, entranced as the little animal struggles to stand again and takes a few wobbling steps.

It’s wonderful. A precious, magical moment. They leave mother and baby alone to bond.

She smiles at Ragnar, now covered in horse fluids, and he gives her the little half smirk that she loves. He leans in for a kiss, but when he gets close, she dodges.

“What?”

She looks him up and down, shaking her head.

“You stink.”

He laughs at that, a deep, rolling laugh. It’s the first one he’s uttered in months, and it feels as if part of the deadweight laying on his chest has lifted.  He’s still chuckling as he goes into the house to shower. Lagertha follows him inside.

When he emerges, she’s laying down under the covers. Fresh sheets. He climbs back in, his lips find hers and she rolls over to let him lift her shirt, placing his mouth on her belly. It makes her emotional, and when he looks up at her, she can tell he is too.  

“It’s not your fault, and we won’t forget him,” Ragnar’s voice is low and raspy. “Did you have a name picked out?”

“Sigurd.”

He kisses her belly again, pleased she would have thought to name his son after his grandfather. A large hand splays across her stomach, feeling her.

There’s a far smaller bump. Lagertha’s belly is now soft, tender, and he touches it gently. There are pale lines, just two of them, under her belly button…the place where his son was. He kisses there as well. Her body isn’t the same as it was before, but it’s always been beautiful, and still is. It’s been so long since he had the privilege to even see this much of her.  

“My breasts hurt,” she whispers, “and I’m lactating…and I’m still bleeding.”  It’s hurtful to acknowledge it in this quiet moment between them. “It feels like my body doesn’t want me to forget.”

This is what they don’t tell women about--what happens afterward. Her body still thinks she’s pregnant. And it’s trying to care for a baby that’s not there.

“Can I see?” He’s concerned. When he left the bed that morning she’d been sleeping peacefully, but he did feel something wet on his hands when he touched her breasts that morning, just to check on her. Now he knows where it came from.

He pulls up the shirt and she winces as the fabric grazes her nipples. Ragnar’s keen eyes take assessment. Lagertha’s breasts are red and swollen now, and they look painful. He touches a nipple gently and she winces again. He understands the problem, and he knows the solution.

“I’ll be right back.”

When he returns he’s got two towels with him, one hot, one cold.  

“Can you sit up for me?” She does with a grimace, and he moves to settle behind her, pulling her close. “Lean back on my chest.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Help you. Trust me,” he says, and she does as he says, closing her eyes as he helps takes off her shirt and places the warm towel across her chest.

“I’m going to touch you, okay? I’m going to massage you. I promise, I’m not trying to do anything, just…let me work?”

She nods and large hands come up under her breasts, beginning to apply gentle pressure. Lagertha whimpers in pain.

“Shhh….it’s okay…just a little more….” As he works, he switches the towel to cold. It makes her shiver, and Ragnar pulls the blankets around them.

It’s an old farming technique for helping relieve cows and goats. But he does not dare tell her this. Another life lessons from the farm. He’s relieving her by gently helping her body expel what it’s not using. The towels become wetter, but she doesn’t notice and for that, Ragnar is grateful, because if she did, he’s certain she’d start crying all over again. And each time a tear falls from Lagertha’s face, it pulls one from him too.

She falls asleep against him and gradually, his movements stop as he shifts again, laying her down and pulling the covers around her shoulders.

This is a cruel joke.

Emotionally ravaging, spiritually devastating. The hurt doesn’t stop. It just keeps rolling them, over and over and over again.

When he comes out the room he’s got the towels in hand.

Nancy spots him coming down the hall.

“Another load of laundry?” She asks. Ragnar nods mutely. “Give them here, baby. Come with me.”

He follows his mother as she takes the sheets from the washer and puts them into the dryer and puts the towels in.

They sit down side-by-side in the back room. John comes walking in and spotting them, comes over too.

“It’s going to take a while, son.” He says putting an arm around him. Ragnar shakes his head.

“I hate seeing her so hurt.”

He closes his eyes as he talks to his parents.  “We got to hold him once. He was so perfect…”

so small and so perfect….and…blue.

It’s all he can say. Because the choked sobs drown out the rest. He’s a grown man. But yet he still cries into his parents’ arms as they hold him together in theirs.

John looks at Nancy, and she nods. They know all too well what he’s going through. Ragnar was their miracle baby.

.

.

Lagertha comes into the kitchen searching for Nancy. She finds her putting away dishes.

“Nancy,” She’s unsure, but Ragnar’s mother is the only woman in the house, and right now Lagertha’s hoping she can help.

“Yes hun?” Nancy steps down from the small ladder she’s been using to reach the top shelves.

“I need help.”

The look on her face says a lot, and Nancy guides the young woman back to her room.

“I’m…lactating. And I don’t know how to stop it,” Lagertha says sadly.

 “Okay. I’ll be right back.” Nancy disappears a minute and comes back with several strips of cotton and some sort of ointment. “Put this in your bra, and put this on your breasts, she instructs. We’ll go into town and get some pads for you.”

On the ride over, one hand rests on her stomach and she closes her eyes. Someone was in there ten days ago. Now he’s not.  A few long, deep breaths still her nerves. But as they go into the local all-purpose store, Lagertha’s hands are still shaking.

“When will it stop?”

She doesn’t realize she’s spoken aloud until Nancy answers.

“Not for a while, dear. It will always be with you. John and I lost two before we got Raki.”

.

.

“I can’t believe you finally brought one home,” Roth says as they’re riding an ATV into the back field. “Yeah. I thought you said L.A. didn’t have anything you wanted,” Jason tells him, taking a sip of beer.

“I didn’t find her in L.A.” Ragnar says. “I found her in Toronto.”

“So, you want to tell us what _really_ happened? She’s fine as hell, by the way. Good job.”

“I waited too long to tell her about Aslaug. And she found out the wrong way.”

Roth whistles low.

“And the rest of it? How did that happen? Especially after Aslaug—I thought you’d be more…careful.”

He gets defensive. “Yeah well…I wasn’t. I don’t really know what I was thinking.”

“Yeah you do. I can look at her and tell you what you were thinking. You wanted to rebuild the family you lost.” Jason speaks his mind for him. “She’s got the right hips.”

“Stop it, Jay,” Roth admonishes his brother. Ragnar slumps a bit in his seat. They pull up to the cherry orchard, bags in hand.

“Still want to stay in Hollywood? You can always come back here,” Roth says as the brothers begin picking. “No stress. No problems. The living is simple and the air is better, too.”

“I do,” Ragnar admits. “But I don’t want to come back without Lagertha. I’m not sure if she’s willing…the only reason she agreed to come now is because I promised her no one would find out.”

“So what will you do when you go back? Are you guys going to stay together?”

“We haven’t been together since she found out about Aslaug,” Ragnar confesses. He has never been able to lie to his brothers and he’s not about to start now. “And I don’t know what to do.”

Hearing the emotion behind the words, Jason looks at his little brother. Well, not so little anymore, but still. He glances at Roth and both shake their heads. Ragnar’s getting a taste of the shit he’s doled out to others, and while they feel bad for him, they also know far more than anyone else why Aslaug and Ragnar split.

“I’ve never seen you so look so desperate,” Roth cuts in. “Ragnar…did you ever stop to think maybe this is karma biting you in the ass?”

“What are you talking about?” Ragnar glares at him, but Roth is oldest and he pulls the card now.

“You _know_ what I’m talking about,” Roth takes on the sage, older wiser brother role. He’s nearing 40 and has lived every single day of it.  “I never lied or held anything back from Jen. She knew damn well what she was getting and she still accepted me and we all know how I was, how I am.”

Jason nods. They’ve had to bail Roth out of jail more than a few times. His favorite thing is to fight, and he loves starting them.

“And I told Kate too,” Jason says. “I was upfront when I knew it was serious. And she was okay with it, because I behaved…only for her, though.” Jason’s thing was partying and drugs. Not an addict, but it had gotten him into more than a few awkward situations.

Roth continues, “We all know how you are. We each have our thing. You have yours, like dad.” Ragnar’s vices are women and liquor, the worst combination of all.

“I _know_ you hate Aslaug. But Ragnar, YOU fucked around first after she told you how she felt. Marrying her was your second mistake. And it doesn’t really matter how Ivar got here but you’re blaming Aslaug when, quite honestly, it could have been Tasha, or Nicole or whoever else you were also fucking at the time. _Any_ of them could have gotten pregnant. I honestly don’t know how you managed to escape kids for as long as you did.  Bottom line is, if you didn’t want her you should have told her that, instead of leading her on. _You_ set off that bomb and it’s still exploding in your face.

 “We know you love Lagertha—that much is obvious. But if you loved her so damned much you should have told her all of it. Including what _you_ did. Getting her pregnant—that was selfish. You were selfish with Aslaug too—using her until you didn’t want her anymore. And even after Ivar you still haven’t learned. Unfortunately, until you do, I have news for you—Lagertha’s not coming back. She’s here now because she’s hormonal and she’s hurt—but that doesn’t mean she’s going to stay with you. _You_ don’t have forever. You may have already lost it.”

Ragnar stalks off to the back of the orchard.

Jason turns to Roth. “That was fucked up. You murdered him. Did you have to be so black about it? He just lost another kid.”

But his brother isn’t giving. “I know he did. And that’s the worst thing to come out of this so far. But he knows he was wrong. That’s why he didn’t say anything back. Ragnar needed someone to tell him the truth to his face.  He’s a grown ass man who made a childish decision. Two of them, now. There are consequences to everything. Ragnar’s laying in his own shit right now and if he wants that woman then he has to get right. And we _both_ know Ragnar’s not right.” He taps his head and they both fall into silence as they start working the trees.  

Because Ragnar is the one most like their dad. And John both raised and lowered he gates of hell.

The brothers think about their sons, how much they love them. And they think about their wives, the women who would happily beat their asses if they get out of line. They love those women. And neither brother envies Ragnar’s problems.

.

.

He knocks on Lagertha’s door later that night and tries the handle. It opens for him, and he sees her sitting in bed with tears streaming down her face rubbing her breasts.

Not again.

She looks up as he walks in and stops.

It’s a plea for relief, and he nods, leaving to go get towels and comes back with them, moving her into position. He does this throughout the first week, and into the second. Gradually the pressure begins to relieve itself, and there's less and less of it. 

He sleeps next to her each night. They stay that way, curled against one another for support.

She’s still wearing the necklace.

.

.

The evening before their last day finds them lazing in an open field on top of a blanket. She’s curled up against him and he admires the way she fits perfectly there. He removes a stray strand of hair from her face, and kisses her forehead. There’s the faint cry of birds in the sky, insects chirruping, and a soft, cool breeze blows by. There’s the rustle of the wheat billowing around them. The ambient sounds are lulling them gently into rest.

“How are you feeling?” he asks her.

“Empty,” she says sadly, one hand on her far smaller stomach.

“Walk with me,” he asks and she looks at him.

“Now?”

“Yeah.” Ragnar gets up and bends down to help Lagertha get to her feet. She’s still sore, and certain movements still hurt.

They walk out a little ways to a clearing, where there’s a small cemetery.

“What is this?”

“The family plot,” he explains, choosing words carefully.They walk to the back where there’s a small plaque. Lagertha looks at it, then at Ragnar as she reads the name.

 

**Sigurd Ragnarsson Lothbrok**

**February 22, 2017**

 

"Ragnar...is he...here?" There's hesitation there, and he nods gently, helping her to the ground. They sit down together in front of it, and she rests her head on his shoulder.

They talk to their son, and they tell him that they love him, that they wish it could have been different, that they wish he was still there—and they promise him that when the next time comes, if it comes, they’ll be better parents.

They tell him that this is goodbye, but not really, because they carry him with them every day. And as Ragnar laces his hand through Lagertha’s, she lets him hold it.


	36. Year 2: April & May

**April**

They spend three weeks in Iowa and the return to Canada is quiet. Ragnar helps Lagertha carry her bags up to her apartment.

“Thank you. I needed that,” she says stepping inside and closing the door behind her. He looks at it a minute, before turning and heading back down to go to the house.

It’s the first night back. The first night in three weeks he’s not sleeping next to her. The trip was silent the entire time back, and the only words she'd spoken were just now. Just "Thank you."

A part of him hadn’t wanted to believe Roth or Athelstan for that matter. A part of him had thought the weeks on the farm had helped them both, but the door closing in his face was confirmation.

It’s nowhere near over. Nowhere near done.

He wants her back. Wants them back. But he clearly hasn’t done enough to earn it.

_“I don’t trust you.”_

What she said before they left. It’s been a month since Sigurd died. The time spent in Iowa hasn’t been nearly enough to stave off the pain. Or the memory seared permanently in his mind and in his heart. Ragnar knows that’s also true for Lagertha. Neither one of them is even close to ready yet. But he would rather grieve with her than without her. Because now that he’s alone, the losses are starting to compound.

.

.

**May**

_Shreya is pushing, pushing hard. But the baby won’t come out. Valdemar paces the room anxious and worried—for his wife, his child. He’s praying to the gods to deliver them both. It hurts to see her in such pain, and should he be the cause of her death, he won’t be able to forgive himself._

_The wet nurses wipe her forehead. The bed is wet and the sheets are red._

_She’s breathing hard, quickly running out of strength._

_Valdemar makes a decision. He comes to the bed, stripping his robes off. They nurses turn their heads but he does not care. He lifts Freyja to move into position behind her, supporting her body on his._

_“Push my love. Come back to me. Come back to us…”_

_Somewhere, somehow, she finds the strength to start pushing again…her hands gripping his tightly._

_“Push, wife, push…” he encourages her, and she does…_

_With a final scream she pushes the baby out, and collapses in her husband’s arms._

_._

Lagertha doesn’t know where the baby came from. But he’s beautiful. It feels so organic, so real, and as she looks into the tiny face, she feels wistful. Ragnar leans down over her shoulder to look at the child as well.

“My son,” he says marveling. “My beautiful son.”

He kisses her ear and whispers only words that she can hear. No mics pick it up.

“We’ll have a baby one day, dove.”

But she doesn’t want to try again, and if it does happen, she’s not certain she wants it to be with him.

“Cut!!!”

Ecbert is coming toward them, tears in his eyes and clapping slowly.

“That was beautiful. Just beautiful…” He gives them a hug.

“I swear…you two are going to make some gorgeous kids.”

It’s a high compliment from a man known for making inappropriate ones. It’s been a difficult seven months. But they’ve finally managed to finish Season 2—three months ahead of schedule.

.

.

It’s a Friday evening and Lagertha is spending it alone. This has become a habit recently, and she’s trying to get accustomed to it. It’s the longest she’s been by herself in years now.

The phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Hi. I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

She smiles. It’s Tim.

“I almost did,” she says. It’s a truthful answer. They only went out on one arranged date.

“I figured,” he laughs. “I wanted to know, if you weren’t busy, if I could take you out again—beard work only,” he says.

Beard-work only. Oh yeah. She’s supposed to be bearded now.

“Sure.”

.

.

This time around, Ecbert’s cast party is a more low-key affair.

“How’s it going?” He asks them when they reach the door.

“We’re good,” Lagertha says, giving the director a hug.

Siggy and Athelstan arrive later, once the party has gone into full rave mode. Ragnar and Lagertha shake their heads at the strippers now swinging from poles set up in the living room. How had they thought it would stay low-key?

“We’re out,” Lagertha tells Siggy.

“No prob. See you guys later.”

Lagertha notices Siggy’s dress is kind of rumpled. And she takes a closer look at Athelstan, normally so well polished. Half his shirt is out of his pants. She whispers to Ragnar and he laughs.

“Bye, ya’ll.” They depart.

It’s actually funny how Siggy and Athelstan have been together for so long, are completely up front about it, and no one seems to either notice, or care. There must be something to hiding in plain sight.

Her phone reads the time. It’s 1:23 a.m. when they pull back up to her apartment. Ragnar walks her to her door.

“Goodnight?” It’s a question. And she knows he wants an answer.

“Goodnight,” she says and seeing his disappointment, kisses him on the cheek.

It’s too early to say or do anything else. It’s only been three months. The necklace still gives him hope.

.

.

**May Part 2**

The weeks pass slowly, and they’ve been pretty much separated since coming back from Iowa. The end of filming leaves Ragnar fewer excuses to see Lagertha, and because she no longer lives in the house they all used to share, he’s lucky if he spots her at all in a week. They’ve talked a few times, but mostly because he’s been the one to call, just to check and see how she’s doing.

He knows she’s still with her beard. But she hasn’t mentioned it in the few times they’ve spoken, and he hasn’t brought it up, figuring it’s not a real thing, and also knowing that in order for her to survive this, it has to be done.

Neither of them have done any interviews is months. They’ve been pretty clear to both Helga and Torstein about what they will and won’t do. Yes to the convention panel, no to late night shows, yes to one-on-one’s but within reason. They have agreed to two joint appearances, one being the annual show panel.  Since they’ve wrapped earlier, the panel has been pushed up by several months. This year, Ragnar stays sober.

But he’s smoking. A nervous habit. It’s been three weeks since he saw Lagertha last, and even then, it was only for a moment; they had passed each other near their dressing rooms. She had been collecting a few things for the break, and he had been just walking in.

Their words were brief. Hello, and goodbye.

For the panel, they’re going it alone. Since most of Season 2 involved the relationship and addition of a new baby for Valdemar and Shreya, they’re the two who will be featured. Lagertha comes backstage right as they’re about to go on. Ragnar barely gets the chance to say hello before the MC announces them, and they walk out on stage waving to the cheering crowd.  He pulls out a chair out for Lagertha and takes a seat beside her. This time he’s dressed a little better in dark jeans, a black denim fitted dress shirt and light gray converse sneakers. Lagertha’s in a simple white shift dress with gold wedge sandals.

“Soo….Ragnar and Lagertha, welcome to the panel, thanks for stopping by.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank you.” They reply in unison.

“Let’s talk about Season 2. A big step for Valdemar and Shreya—they had a baby! What was it like filming that scene?  It was so beautiful, really heartfelt.”

Damn. Right out the gate. Lagertha swallows and opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. Ragnar, seeing her discomfort, jumps in.

“I think it’s what Valdemar values, more so than his earldom, is his son. And his wife.”

“What was going through Valdemar’s mind when Shreya was in labor?”

“He was afraid. He was afraid she would die and leave him—that he would lose them both. I think it’s a very human thing, actually. To know fear is to understand what real strength is, and where it comes from and I think Valdemar knows his strength is in Shreya.”

It’s time for audience questions.

“Ragnar and Lagertha—I have a question—what about that on-set accident? The one that shut down production? Are you okay?”

“Oh. Yes, I’m fine. Accidents happen all the time. Who would have known a giant slingshot could misfire?” Lagertha says it with a smile and rolls her eyes. The audience laughs.

Another person stands up.

“How close are you guys? When you’re not on-screen? There’s been a lot written—Ragnar about you—and Lagertha— Is any of it true?”

“I think that’s a little out of our bounds here,” the moderator says. “Next question.”

“Valdemar—oops, Sorry Ragnar. Man, you two are blending into one. What do you have in common with your character?”

He thinks on it a moment. “Well, we can both fight. But Valdemar is better with a sword. And I’m a father too, so I empathize with him. Ah, when it comes to women though, Valdemar is doing a lot better than I am at the moment.”

The audience laughs at the self-deprecating humor. It’s a dig at his divorce.

“Lagertha, same question for you. What do you think?”

“Well, Shreya can kick ass. And I love her devotion, her loyalty. I think becoming a mother will likely change her for the better.”

They keep answers short and succinct. And there’s none of the back-and-forth banter they had last year.

When it’s over, they go back to their hotel, separate rooms this time.

“Can I walk you to your door?”

 She looks at him and nods as they walk.

“How have you been?”

“Better. How are you?”

“Fine.”

They arrive at her door.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dove.”

It’s over too soon.  

The next morning they board a plane to New York.  A photoshoot for marketing, and another for _Variety._

The artistic director for the magazine shows them potential frames and settings. He lets them dictate the direction. Ragnar studies the visuals and makes several changes. Lagertha looks uncertain.

“Really?”

He nods. “I _was_ a model, remember? Trust me, it will look good.”

They come out to the set to see what it looks like. There’s a faux fire burning in a makeshift pit, soft furs on the floor.  It looks almost like something from their set. Lagertha’s wrapped in a robe, and Ragnar has on one, too.

“Ok. We’re ready for you.” She lowers hers, revealing a red lace bra and tanga. Ragnar has on boxer briefs. They slip under the furs and he puts an arm around her laying one hand on her belly. Completely flat again. As if nothing had ever happened. Like it was all just an illusion, a dream.

“Now, look over here.”

They start the shoot. Varying positions. Her in his arms. This time, there’s no forgetting where they are, or getting caught in a moment. She’s hyper aware of Ragnar. It’s been months since they’ve been this close to each other, months since she felt the warmth of his skin on hers. He radiates heat. And he still smells like Irish Spring soap.

“This is a lot better than it was the first time,” Ragnar says with a soft smile, tickling her sides gently. It makes her flinch and smile and laugh. It’s been a while since he heard the sound from her, and for a fleeting moment, he’s happy again, glad he was able to make her smile like that.

The photographer catches it all. Later, they sit down for their interview.

 


	37. Year 2: June

**June**

**“Lothbrok and Lowe: They’re Content to Leave Us Guessing…And That’s A Good Thing”**

**June 2017**

They’re the hottest, most talked about couple on television, but when it comes to their personal lives, Ragnar Lothbrok and Lagertha Lowe deal in numerous layers of opacity and shades of gray.

Lothbrok, 31, is quiet and reserved while Lowe, 28, at first blush appears to be the more outgoing one. But as our conversation commences, they mute a bit, change. While much has been written about them this past year, Lowe and Lothbrok are resolved in one thing: ask what you want about the show, even about them individually, but questions about their relationship, and those cheating and pregnancy rumors—off-limits.

It’s clear these two share a lot of things in common—and they’ve got a great deal of intimacy between them. Where one trails off in an answer, the other picks it up. They finish each other’s sentences, start each other off on different thoughts. It’s the sort of thing that reminds you of your best friend, your wife or husband, or of that cute old couple down the street—you know, the one that’s been married 50 years and is still in love. They’ve got that kind of connection, though with Lowe and Lothbrok, the nature of it is nebulous at best.

Neither has ever confirmed nor denied being in a relationship despite photos, court documents, and even the allegations of Lothbrok’s wife. And Lowe has been spotted out and about with writer/director Tim Nungesser. Still, there’s something between her and her co-star that’s hard to pin down; they leave you trying to guess. It’s nothing obvious. They sit on opposite ends of the couch. They don’t touch, barely even look at one another. But there’s an energy that surrounds them…writers call it “chemistry”, but it feels more than that.  It has…depth.

Are these two people just really good friends who, for the past two years have worked together nearly every waking day? Or are they lovers—possibly on the verge of being happy but can’t seem to get there? Some say it’s the former, others hope it’s the later.

Was Lowe ever pregnant? She doesn’t look it. And was or is Lothbrok the father? Or is all of this just hype? Are they just toying with us, playing games to boost ratings?

Charming one moment, mercurial the next—this is why these two people dominate prime time television. They’re a study in contrast, he’s dark she’s light, he’s hard, she’s soft. Lothbrok is intense, imperfect, his skin textured, a permanent tan from a life spent outdoors. His hands are rough, calloused after years of physical work.  But Lowe is flawless, her beauty almost otherworldly and they reflect and resound off one another. It’s hard to imagine a time when they weren’t on our televisions, in our living rooms, living in our thoughts and our hearts. We now have trouble separating them from their characters: does life imitate art, or inform it? Is what we’re watching real or fake? Are we just making things up in our head? Writing our own fanfiction in the hopes its true?

I’ve had moments watching “The Shieldmaiden’s Tale,” where I’ve been so drawn in that these characters’ griefs and joys become my own. When Valdemar prays for a child, I prayed with him; when Shreya gave birth, I felt like I did too…and I’m a man.

Even a year later, we talk of “The Scene”, as it’s come to be known, at once so bare, yet so erotic. It was quite possibly the most graphically sexual yet censored thing to be allowed on primetime. Another season has passed yet avid viewers are _still_ trying to figure out what Lothbrok was doing under those furs. Did he, or didn’t he? And the look on Lowe’s face… what person hasn’t loved like that? Or wanted to be loved like that? Yes, it was racy. And yes, it was explicit. But it was also honest. Honest to the point it made America wet, and uncomfortable.

Someone get America a drink, a cigarette and a fan. And perhaps, _that’s_ the magic.

These two people and the characters they embody speak to our nature, of who and what we are as humans. It’s a testament to their talent—something which has been largely overlooked this year in favor of tabloid headlines and the rooting up of personal dirt -- that even now, they stay quiet and unassuming, yet still have the rest of us trying to figure out where the fantasy ends and reality begins when it comes to who they are to each other.

Maybe it’s all in our heads. Maybe, when it comes to Lothbrok and Lowe, Valdemar and Shreya, we’re all just a little obsessed.

So, all hail Earl Valdemar!

And all hail Earl Shreya!

And long live Ragnar Lothbrok and Lagertha Lowe. They give us life. We can’t wait for Season Two.

[www.variety.com](http://www.variety.com)

 

The photo spread that accompanies the story is gorgeous. Ragnar was right. They do look good. In one, he’s on top of her, smiling down at her, and in another, they stare in the camera under the furs, bare from the shoulders up, unsmiling.  The third catches them both in grins, Ragnar tickling her and Lagertha laughing, swatting at him. The photos are tasteful. Intimate.

 The photographer has managed to catch them in all their different shades, and she’s got to admit—the writer was…perceptive.

“This is good. Really good,” Helga says over the phone.  “The writing was amazing. He really got you guys. No quotes either. It’s all sense and intuition. What was his name again?”

“He went by Arne—I didn’t catch his last name,” Lagertha says.

“No prob. I’ll call the magazine later. That’s a definite ‘yes’ for a follow-up down the road.” Helga hangs up.

Ragnar walks in the room and sees the magazine in Lagertha’s hand. It’s just the two of them in her apartment. He’s visiting. A rare occasion nowadays.

“Can I?”

She gives it to him and he reads it and nods in approval. “Damn. He’s perceptive, isn’t he?”

She smiles. “I didn’t think we gave that much away, but yes. I liked it.”

“Me too,” he leans in to kiss her on the cheek before settling beside her on the couch, pulling her to his chest. She curls up against him, her face against his neck.

They’re back in Canada for the moment, preparing to head stateside again for the next several months.

Today is June 19th.

Today is the day their son was supposed to be born.  It’s the reason Ragnar’s here at all and he knows it. Last night was the first time she’d called him instead of the other way around. And he’d come immediately, staying the night with her.

It’s been four months since their baby died. Four months out a year that feels as if it will never end. A lost year. A lonely year.

The day has been quiet. Just them, together, wishing and wanting desperately for it to have been different. Words have been few.

Eventually she gets up and takes his hand, guiding him to the bedroom.

They embrace.

“Ragnar,” Lagertha says, her fingers slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt. He stays still, watching her, carefully, trying to figure out where her head is at.

“Yes, dove?”

“I need you to touch me,” she looks up at him, voice cracking with weariness, and sadness.  “I’m tired of feeling … _empty_. I want to feel alive again. I want to feel…something. _Anything_.”  There’s desperation. He knows it well. They’re in the exact same place.

So he does. He touches her in every place she asks him to, with his hands, and with his mouth. It’s slow, gentle, unhurried and bursting with things unspoken. For the first time in seven months, they make love. He fills her and she comes for him.

This time, he pulls out, taking care not to make another mistake.

Afterward, Lagertha falls sound asleep. He waits a moment to be sure and when he is, he gets up, pulling on his pants, and goes to the other room.

For a moment he looks around at the partially-completed nursery. The crib stands alone near a wall, a gray and white elephant bedding set adorning it. On the opposite side, the matching dresser with the changing table on top. Both bought and assembled by him, done so that it would be one less thing she would have to worry about. Little stuffed animals perch on the dresser alongside a lamp. A half-assembled bookshelf sits abandoned on the floor. He opens the closet and sees clothes. The drawers contain more, along with a few blankets, and towels… a pair of tiny, white shoes.

She had just started buying more baby things.

His hands touch the wood of the crib, running up and down the curves and angles. With resignation, he leaves and comes back with a screwdriver, wrench, and the boxes and storage bags he managed to slip in the night before when Lagertha was asleep.

As she sleeps again now, Ragnar works.

The crib set comes off and is folded carefully, placed into a bag. The clothes, blankets and other soft fabrics go in with it. The bag is sealed, air drawn out to keep it safe, and is placed in a box.

The stuffed animals follow next—the lamp wrapped in paper and slipped inside. Tape slides on, sealing up the reminders.

Another bag—the crib mattress and the changing table pad—both are removed and sealed up as well, until all that remains is the crib and the dresser. He put the boxes for those in the closet and sure enough, they are still there.

It takes an hour to disassemble both, and he wraps everything back up and puts them in the closet, loading the boxes in there as well. And when he’s finished, he stands in the middle of an empty room. Just as empty as he feels in the moment.


	38. Year 2: July

**July**

It takes time and patience and dedication to rebuild a relationship once it’s been damaged. And he’s been trying. Ragnar is learning to be grateful for every day he gets to see Lagertha. Like today.

It’s a surprise.

“Ragnar.”

He looks up as she lounges in gray, baggy sweat pants and a wife-beater in the frame of his bedroom door. Her hair is in a ponytail, the pants slung low over her hips.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah. I was here last night with Siggy,” she says. “We went out last night with…friends.”

He frowns at that. She was here, in the house, and didn’t tell him. And didn’t come to his room. He covers his disappointment with a shrug.

 “Remember that gym we used to go to? The one near the Ritz?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

It’s a Saturday afternoon, mid-July.  He checks his phone. The time reads 4:20 p.m. There’s irony there, somewhere.

“I was just thinking about something…” she says eyeing him. “It’s been a long time since I kicked your ass.”

He smiles. “You think you can still kick my ass?”

She saunters up to him putting a finger on his chest and pushing.

“Try me.” They both know neither can resist a dare.

“Give me five.”

He changes quickly and they’re out the door and into a waiting Uber.

When they go inside they see the ring is empty, and they make for the gloves and helmets. Lagertha takes her time, taping up her hands tight, and, once done, sinks down and begins to go through her stretches. Everything feels stiff from of disuse, but she forces her way through it, and as she continues to warm up, it all comes flooding back. She works on her kicks, her squats, her aim…She’s using muscle combinations that haven’t been worked in months—she’s been so busy, so stressed---but this is like a return to a safe place. A happy place.

Ragnar jumps rope in another corner. He misses the first few, but gradually catches his rhythm. And when he goes to the bag, it starts to feel good again. Familiar. It’s been way too long since they did this, and he returns to the bag, concentrating—focusing on his aim, his reach…there’s tightness in his shoulders and his forearms from the shock, but it gradually begins to fade as he gets a little faster, hits a little harder finding his comfort zone. This is good. Really good.

They enter the ropes, and just like the first time, the old ref starts them off.

They go right for each other, Lagertha coming out with a roundhouse kick to the head that takes Ragnar straight to his ass. He gets up fast as she comes at him—fists and legs flying. He blocks with his arm and bounces away from her, getting his bearings. The legs. He remembers now. He has to watch out for those legs.

He goes back in and lands two soft body shots and is going in for a third when Lagertha suddenly drops down and comes back up fast, her gloved fist making impact right on his chin. It makes his head spin momentarily and despite both a mouth and chin guard, he tastes blood. Watch for the right… How the hell had he forgotten that fist? He’s been on the receiving end of it now more than a few times.

She bounces back with satisfaction and they retreat to their corners. It’s the end of round one.

They’re back for round two, and this time, Ragnar goes on the offensive dropping low to trip her up, bringing her down to the mat and trying to pin her. They wrestle like that—struggling against each other—she keeps finding ways to slip out of his grasp, targeting his sides his stomach, but he’s holding firm. Finally, after what feels like forever, he’s finally got her on her stomach, one leg and the opposing arm gripped tight.

She taps out, and he falls over, exhausted, having also forgotten how hard these sessions had been.

She comes to stand over him, extending a hand and he takes it, pulling himself up.

“That was fun,” she says walking off to remove her gloves and helmet. He begins taking his off too, still tasting the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth. He spits into a wastebasket. It’s red. Yep. She got him.

“C ’mere,” Lagertha says sidling up to him and putting a hand on his cheek to inspect. She sees the busted lip, and smiles, standing on her tip toes to kiss it.

“My gift to you. A show of my affections.” Her eyes are laughing.

“It’s the second time you’ve busted my lip.”

“You earned it the first time. No regrets.”

He winds up a towel and slaps her across the ass. She yelps.

“And that was mine to you.”

They laugh as they climb back in the car and head home.

 “I can’t believe you two fight for fun,” Siggy says walking into the living room a few hours later and seeing them both laid out and groaning on the couch. Ragnar’s lip is busted and his shoulder is sore. Lagertha’s got bruises on her arms and a red mark across her ass. Both are sporting ice packs.

“Ya’ll look pitiful. Just pitiful.” She shakes her head, walking off.

They start laughing again, despite the aches and pains. Ragnar leans over to kiss Lagertha, grimacing a bit. His lip is starting to swell.

“If we’re all going to dinner tonight, I guess being sleeveless isn’t a good idea,” she says a smile/grimace across her face when she tries to move.

He winces as he sits up on the couch. “Probably not.”

.

.

They’re leaving a sushi bar a few days later when Ragnar asks a question.  “Do you want to go back to your apartment?” It’s a mid-afternoon on a Saturday.

“Yeah. I have to get changed.”

“Going somewhere?” He watches her bite her bottom lip. It means she’s nervous about something.

“I have a date tonight.”

A date.

“Oh.” It’s all he says. He walks her back to her door. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Thanks for lunch.”

“No problem.”

A date. Lagertha has a date with someone not him. He already knows who it is. The same guy she’s been seeing these past few months.

Tim Nungasser.

He’s been trying to ignore it, holding on to the idea that Tim is just a beard.  But Lagertha’s never used the word “date” before in describing her nights with Tim—not that she’s ever discussed it with him before either.

Siggy and Athelstan are in the kitchen cooking when they hear a key in the door, and when they see Ragnar they think at first, Lagertha is with him. But when she doesn’t follow, they look at each other.

“She has a date,” he explains, going to the liquor cabinet and taking out a glass and a bottle of Jack. They’re quiet as Ragnar retreats to the pool deck. He doesn’t turn on the light and they don’t do it for him.

“It’s going to take a while,” Siggy says. Athelstan nods. “I know. It took us years. They’ve only had a few months.”

“I feel bad for them,” she says, turning to him. Athelstan leans in for a kiss.

“I love you Siggy Haraldson. Just in case I haven’t said anything lately.”

She hugs him.

“I love you too. Thanks for not giving up on us.”

They leave a plate for Ragnar in the microwave. It’s untouched in the morning.

_._

_._

“I’m surprised you said yes. I thought I blew it the last time,” Tim tells her as they walk down the pier. Across the river, the lights of downtown Detroit twinkle at them. There’s a light breeze and it’s cool, but not unpleasant. The sky is clear and so are the stars.

She laughs. “So you picked a crappy movie. Not everything can be a winner, and I am sure Caroline appreciates your continued efforts.”

Tim chuckles. “It wasn’t your mother this time, I promise. I wanted to see you again. I enjoyed that night and our last few nights.”

“Really? Because I figured I’ve been a complete buzzkill.”

“Please. You couldn’t be if you tried. So how’s it going lately?”

“Better,” she says. “The past few months have been rough, but I can’t complain about the past few weeks.” And it’s true. All in all, she can’t complain.  “So, where are we going this time?”

“There’s a concert in the park. I figured it would be a good, neutral real first date.” She gives him an eyebrow and a side-smile.

“A _Real_ first date?”

“I figured if I were on my best behavior, I could make it to a second.” Tim grins and it’s infections. She grins back as he offers her his arm. She accepts and they walk down to the concert. 

“By the way, I meant to tell you I really like your necklace. I noticed it at the bar that first time. It's beautiful--looks like you,” he says as they walk.

The necklace.

She fingers it. It’s been on for so long she’d forgotten its there. "Thanks." It's all she says about it. 

Their night goes well. Very well. And she has a good time. A relaxing time. Tim walks her home and they pause by her door.

"Well, this is me," Lagertha says turning to face him. He looks at her, hesitating a bit.

"Can I...kiss you?"

She smiles and nods.  It's sweet. He's sweet. So wholesome and good. They kiss.

It's also sweet. Gentle and soft. Light.

"Thank you, Tim. I had a good time," she tells him, unlocking her door and walking in.

That night, she takes off the necklace and carefully puts it in her jewelry box, fingering it. Still sparkly, still beautiful, but a reminder of things its way past time to let go.

It’s time to move on. To take steps forward. There is no going back.

Tim makes it to a real second date. And then a third. 

And a fourth.

.

.

**“Lowe’s New Beau: Sheildmaiden, Director Make It Official**

**Los Angeles** \-- _They’ve been flying under the radar for months now, but “The Sheildmaiden’s Tale” star Lagertha Lowe and “Heavens” Director Tim Nungesser were coupled up at the premiere of Nungesser’s newest film, “Love Child”. The actress was dressed in a backless black, mermaid Roberto Carvalli gown and Nungesser sported a classic tuxedo._

_The actress has been notoriously cagey about her love life. Her ex-husband is a millionaire Los Angeles real estate developer and she has also been romantically linked to her co-star Ragnar Lothbrok, but they have never confirmed nor denied a relationship, and Lothbrok is engaged in a messy divorce._

_Now though, it appears Lowe has no such qualms with Nungesser._

_When asked about their relationship, Nungesser replied, “she’s the love of my life,” and smiling, Lowe said, “he’s the right man at the right time in my life.” That’s a long way from the “just friends” status Nungesser reported earlier in the year when the two were spotted hanging out at a Toronto bar._

_In an interview with Elle magazine last year, Lowe said she’s “never known love,” and found it the hardest thing to express in filming “Shieldmaiden’s.” Here’s to hoping the actress, star of the upcoming movie “Lindy’s Lane,” has finally found someone she can learn to love with._

[www.EW.com](http://www.EntertainmentWeekly.com)


	39. Year 2: August

**August**

Helga and Torstein are keeping their public appearances to a minimum. And Ragnar hasn’t seen or spoken to Lagertha in weeks—not since she told him she had a date. He’s never paid attention to the gossip and celebrity blogs, but now he does, because it’s how he keeps track of Lagertha and her boyfriend.

It’s driving him crazy.

They rushed to finish the season and that’s left a much longer break this time. Nearly six whole months. He’s back in Los Angeles. Back to driving his truck and back to drinking at the local bar. And that’s really about all he’s been doing with his time.

It’s Floki who interrupts his funk.

“Where the fuck have you been, man? We’ve been calling you,” Floki says yelling. But he stops as soon as he takes a long look at Ragnar.

“You… shaved your head?” He asks.

“New project coming up.” Ragnar says turning around and letting FLoki into the apartment.

“Did your phone break?”

Ragnar holds it out.

“That’s an i4. You really need to upgrade.”

“It still works.” He turns to go inside and Floki follows.

“So, what’s up? You done sulking yet?”

“I’m fine.”

“Right. Well, I was coming to tell you, personally, that we’re about to go to Australia for the week—surfing, new places…new _faces_ …want to come? It’s not like you’re doing anything else,” Floki says, eyeing his surroundings. The apartment looks the same, but it _feels_ different. As if there’s a dark cloud hovering over everything.

“Did you’re a/c go out?”

“Yeah. I haven’t had time to get it fixed yet.”

“Ragnar…how old is that thing? You should really….”

“Really what, Floki?” Ragnar snaps, not bothering to hide his anger. He hasn’t forgotten how his “friends” tried to sabatoge him with Lagertha early on. Right now, there’s enough blame to throw around.

Sensing danger, Floki shuts up and backtracks quickly.

“So…are you coming? I think you could use it.”

“Yeah. I’ll come.”

“Good! We’re leaving Sunday. Swing by Rollo’s tonight. We’re going out.”

They find themselves at one of L.A.’s known celebrity clubs.

Bjorn grins as he walks up. “I’ve been wanting to come here. Not famous enough yet. Figured we’d use you to get in.”

Sure enough, it works.

The music is loud and pulsing as they go inside. Floki sees something on the floor he likes and splits. The rest of them find a table and get settled. Ragnar’s knocking back beers when he sees a glint of golden hair by the door. He’d know that hair anywhere. Why is Lagertha here? He thought she was in New York.

“What are you looking at?” Rollo asks, and turns in the direction Ragnar’s staring.

“Oh shit.”

That’s about right.

Lagertha walks in, a tall, dark haired man with her.

“We can leave if you want,” Bjorn offers, but he waves them off and drinks down the rest of his beer.

“Nah. It’s good.”

Bjorn and Rollo look at each other knowing by the extra-casual way Ragnar says it and the way his hand is crushing the beer can that it’s far from good.

“Do you really want to be here?” Tim asks her over the music.

“Yes! I love dancing!” She yells, dragging him onto the floor.

“I’m really shit at this,” he tells her as the song changes to something poppy. Lagertha’s already bouncing to the beat.

“Don’t worry. No one’s paying attention to us.” She laughs a bit at Tim’s faulty attempts at rhythmic movement, but eventually he starts to loosen up.

Ragnar is watching as Lagertha starts moving. It’s getting later and he weighs whether to go down there or not. The music changes to something slow, and he watches as she gets closer to the guy and wraps her arms around his neck. They’re close. Too close… and when he closes his eyes he remembers how she felt against his body that night… slowly, he starts to grind his teeth.

“ _Don’t_ do it. I’m not bailing your ass out of jail,” Rollo warns seeing Ragnar’s jaw clench.  It gets ignored as he takes down the last of the beer, crushes the can and gets up, heading toward the dance floor.

Rollo lays his head on the table and just sighs.

Lagertha’s got her head on Tim’s chest, dancing slowly. It feels…nice. And if she closes her eyes she can almost believe he feels better than he actually does…that he feels like…she inhales deeply, smelling Irish Spring soap.

“I’m going to the bar…do you want something?” Tim’s voice interrupts the moment and she nods as he leaves her on the floor and heads off. In the middle of a song.

There’s a tap on her shoulder. She turns around and looks up in surprise.

“Ragnar? What are you doing here?”

He’s looking at her, a slight smirk on his face. But she knows better. There’s ice in his eyes and he doesn’t answer her question.”

“I thought you were in New York.”

“I was—Helga booked a last-minute shoot. We got in this afternoon and I wanted to go dancing.”

“Ah. I see.” They’re just looking at each other, and he notices that she’s no longer wearing the necklace. It makes him seethe that much more. She catches his scent again…it makes her body go warm and what she really wants is to just get close and inhale, to go to him and put her head on his chest…Ragnar’s eyes burn into hers with a look that’s between anger and hurt. His whole bearing is different, even his face is different. She notes the bald head, and the slightly longer beard…He’s so much…darker, than he was before. It’s in his eyes. His lips. Both drawn.  It makes her shudder a bit. Because she knows, in that moment exactly how he feels, why he feels it, and she knows the barely contained anger that’s rolling off of him is directed at her.

Ragnar leans down a bit to whisper into her ear, his arm around her waist forcefully pulling her against him. “What are trying to do to me?” Accusing. Bitter.

The music plays on. She knows this song. Jill Scott. Lyzel in E-Flat. An ode to a husband, a lover…a friend…

_You love me,_

_Especial-ly,_

_different_

_ever-y time…_

All the things he isn’t anymore. She closes her eyes, inhaling his scent, her fingers gripping his arms. Still so strong, so solid, and so sure…They dance. He holds her tight.

“ _Look_ at me.” Ragnar’s lips meet hers. But it’s not gentle. It’s hard. His hands slide down her body, caressing her.   

 “ _What_ happened?” he says forcefully. “ _Why_ did you leave me? I thought we were trying again.”

She pulls back slightly, knowing exactly where he’s going with this. What he’s trying to do. But she won’t allow him to make her feel bad, nor will she allow him to manipulate the situation. HE started it. HE lied.

Forward. Not backward.

“Then YOU thought wrong.” Because he’s not the only one mad. “Not everything is about _you_ , Ragnar. I want something for me. Some _one_ for me. Someone who doesn’t lie, and doesn’t have a wife and child they _convieniently_ forgot about.”

Her words sting. Still, he refuses to let her go.

“My mistake was not telling you the truth, but I _never_ left you. I’ve been loyal to you only, and _this_ is how you repay my love? You know damn well we belong to each other.” He damn near growls the words in her ear. Hard lips against soft skin….

Jill Scott sings on as they move, slowly, tightly—his arms around her, hers on him. There’s disconnect. Dichotomy. Intimate touch laced with wicked words.

She bristles, tenses and tries to break his grip but he keeps her right where she is.

Ragnar’s voice is low, his beard brushing against her skin, making her tingle. “Come home, dove.”

“Never,” a hiss, even as her hands grip into his forearms. “ _You_ don’t _deserve_ me. You _never_ did. You’re a whore. You’re a liar. You’re a cheater and a fraud.”

He chuckles darkly, one hand trailing down to her ass. A grab.  “Sure. I can be that. And speaking as a whore, I’ll tell you now that you will make a major mistake if you leave her tonight with _him_. You _don’t_ love him.”

Because he knows Lagertha doesn’t do casual sex. And she knows he doesn’t do love.

At least…they didn’t before. But that was then. This, is now.

She stops moving. “ _Love_ has nothing to do with it. Did you _love_ Aslaug?”

Ragnar draws back, eyes flashing. The words are on the tip of his tongue but they’re interrupted before he can unleash the tirade of curses directed right at her.

“Uh, Lagertha?”

Oh crap. Tim. He’s back.

She turns to him, quickly getting herself together and taking the drink in his hand. She takes a sip before speaking.  

“Tim, this is Ragnar Lothbrok, Ragnar…this is my friend, Tim.”

The two men shake hands.

“Nice to meet you. I really like your work on ‘Shieldmaiden’s” Tim says, locking eyes with Ragnar. Neither man smiles, and the handshake is brief. Forceful. Ragnar just nods. “Thanks.” Lagertha moves to Tim’s side, putting distance between herself and her ex.

Ignoring the move, Ragnar leans into her, voice low so only she can hear. The next words drip with venom, designed to deliberately hurt.  “He’ll never make you feel like I do. He won’t touch you like I do. And he won’t love you or _fuck_ you like I do. You will not come for him and you won’t be happy—you aren’t now. Remember…I KNOW you… _dove_.” He places a soft, lingering kiss on her cheek.

 It stings.

“Good luck with that,” Ragnar says, eyeing Tim before strolling away, taking with him all of Lagertha’s enthusiasm for the evening. She feels as if someone has knocked the wind out of her.

“We should leave,” she says, walking to the door. Tim follows silently. Once outside in different air, she breathes deeply, trying to purge her ex’s smell from her nose. But it refuses to budge.

“So…I’m a friend?” Tim asks as they wait for their car to come around. “I thought by now I would have at least been upgraded to something more.”

She shakes her head as the car finally arrives and they get in. “I’m sorry if you thought that,” she tells him. “I’m not….” It drifts off.

“Because you still love him.” He says. There’s resignation in his voice. “It was obvious. Women don’t make their beards their boyfriends.”

“Tim…”

“Nah. You don’t have to try to make me feel better. I knew it from the get go. Thought I would still try though.” 

They pull up to their hotel and go in.

“I think I should get a different room, tonight.”

She puts a hand on his arm, stopping him and reaches up on her tip toes to kiss his lips.

“No. I want you to stay with me.”

“Are you sure?”

No. But she will not give Ragnar the satisfaction.  And she also knows if she keeps straddling the fence, it won’t get her anywhere. Especially if she’s trying to move on. And she HAS to move on. So she makes a decision.

“Yes.”

When they get back to their room and the door closes she turns to him and takes off her clothes. Before Tim can say anything she takes off his and pushes him back and onto the bed, so she can climb on top.  

“What--” 

He’s silenced by her mouth on his and as she deepens it and reaches for his cock he realizes that whatever has changed he’s not going to question it.

“Do you have anything?” She asks, looking down at him. Tim blinks a moment before realizing what she’s talking about and nodding, lifting her so that he can reach for his wallet and prepare himself. He’s quick and she’s ready when he gets back into the bed. Lagertha pushes him down again and climbs on.

She had a great teacher. Ragnar’s lessons are put to use.

He’s no innocent and he’s had sex before, at least…Tim _thought_ he’s done it before, but Lagertha is demanding and merciless…intense and as he groans and tries to keep up with her he’s finding he just… can’t. He’s already coming and she’s still going and for his life, he is trying to hold out until he just can’t anymore. She’s pushed him off the deep end and his climax is quite possibly the strongest thing he’s ever felt, and he’s so exhausted that when she does finally slow down and climbs off, he thinks she’s finished and it grants him the freedom to _finally_ go to sleep, because he’s totally and completely spent.

Lagertha settles at the end of the bed, watching him. At least one of them is satisfied. There’s a mini bar in their room and she goes to it, reaching in and finding exactly what she wants. A mini bottle of Jack Daniels. She drinks it down fast, to numb the growing feeling of resentment inside her.  It’s exactly what she needs to get back into the bed. It’s what she needs to drown out the fact that Tim isn’t Ragnar, that he was nowhere near Ragnar, that she’d faked it when in reality she’d felt nothing at all. Like a hot dog through a hallway, really.  The Jack helps drown out the fact Ragnar was right—that she knew he would be right, and it makes her hate him that much more for it.

But the next morning its back in full force and she knows immediately how big a mistake last night was. She gathers her clothes off the floor and begins to dress silently. Tim is still in bed, asleep, and by the looks of him, he won’t wake up for a while. It gives her cover to grab her suitcase and slip out the door, and into the elevator. When she gets to the lobby she calls Helga.

“Get me a flight back to New York. ASAP. Private or commercial, I don’t care.  I’m on my way to the airport. ”

It’s late by the time she gets home. And the first thing she does when she arrives is get in the shower to scrub Tim from her body. But there’s no amount of scrubbing that will get rid of Ragnar, though, because everytime she breathes she smells Irish Spring soap.

.

.

Australia is better. Much better than being stateside. He can still blend in here. Disappear. And so he does. He just wants to forget the past year. Forget everything.

Forget Ivar, forget Sigurd, forget Aslaug, forget Lagertha. Especially Lagertha…and Tim.

There are lots of pretty girls. Pretty girls, and pretty women. So he goes hunting. And all good predators know the first step is to go slow. Observe. Find a target. And wait.

It doesn’t take very long to target the prey. A pretty girl. The bartender. Light blonde hair, soft blue eyes. He likes the way she moves. Young…but since she’s serving liquor…still legal.

Ragnar puts on his most winning smile as he sidles up to the bar and waits patiently until she comes his way.

“How can I help you?” She smiles. He grins. “You can start by giving me your name.”

“Annie.”

Annie.

He stares at her intently, deliberately holding her gaze until she blushes and shifts, leaning across the br and giving him a great view of her boobs. His eyes slowly drift down her chest, then back up to her face. He licks his lips.

Yes, he likes her. She’s exactly the type he wants. Pretty. Young…

 Dumb.

“So, what _else_ can I do for you?” Annie asks. It’s suggestive and he grins wider, already knowing he’s got her.

“You can do me—now or later. You’re choice.”

“I get off in five,” she whispers.

“You can bring a friend, too.”

Oblivion is sweet.

.

.

“Where the hell is Ragnar?” Rollo asks as they come from the beach. They’d all left their rooms together, but only three are returning. The guys find him as soon as they open his door and immediately close it again. It’s what they get for swapping keys.

“Well…” Bjorn says.

Floki just shakes his dead. “Rollo, you want to take that one?”

“Why is it always me?”

“Because you’re the only one of us who can hit harder than he can,” Bjorn says. “Plus, I did it last time.”

They head to the tiki bar by the pool, staying within eyeshot of the door. After about an hour, it opens and two women walk out, giggling between themselves. Rollo waits a bit and looks at Floki and Bjorn who just shrug at him and go back to their drinks.

Bitches.

 “It smells like ass in here,” he says walking into the room and taking appraisal. The bed is a mess and  he’s got a sneaking suspicion the white powder smear on the coffee table isn’t benign.  

“Please tell me you didn’t let your DNA walk out that door.”

Ragnar is on the patio in swim trunks, feet up on the railing smoking, staring at nothing. He points to the garbage can inside. It’s only a slight relief. Rollo takes a seat on the patio chair next to him.

“Are you self-medicating right now…or self-destructing?”

Ragnar doesn’t answer, just shrugs, a clear sign he doesn’t want to discuss it. But Rollo knows better than anybody what’s triggered this. He may not have heard the words exchanged at the club, but he’d watched it all go down.  The lie. The pregnancy. The loss. The defeat. He weighs how far to push.

 “Fine. But just think about how you’re going to feel when you get back to Canada in a few months. If you’re good with it, so am I.”

That might have been the wrong thing. Because Rollo sees Ragnar’s hands becoming fists, and he’s been on the receiving end of those before. It’s not even worth it—trying to save someone who doesn’t want to be—and he just said all that really needs to be said. With a sigh, Rollo gets up to go to the door, leaving Ragnar to wallow in his own misery.

Ragnar reaches for another cigarette and lights it, inhaling deeply and letting it go slowly.

There is absolutely no peace. Anywhere.

All he can see is Lagertha… wrapped around Tim. He’s angry, because he knows he fucked it all up; jealous, because she should have been wrapped around him; and hurt, because he’d thought they were trying again.

But it turns out he was the only one trying. And he was the one that got played.

She’d played him. Has he not been punished enough?

He runs his hand over his face and takes his legs down from the rail before reaching over to grab the bottle of vodka on the table and pouring a shot. It goes down fast. In his pocket are cigarettes and a ziplock bag, and he removes both, placing them next to the vodka and turning his attention to a new task. Slowly, methodically, he starts to work. He removes a single cigarette from the pack and rolls it between the thumb and forefinger to loosen the tobacco, watching as it falls out until there’s no more tobacco and all that’s left is hollow paper. Next, he meticulously grinds the buds, carefully removing any stems so they don’t poke through the paper. He’s pleased to see there aren’t that many. Quality. He orinents the hollowed out cigarette vertically and proceeds to carefully pour the marijuana into it, making sure not to spill. Waste not, want not.

Next, he picks up the complimentary pen from the desk and inserts it in the top of the cigarette, gently compacting the freshly poured weed to achieve the proper firmness, making sure to leave about a centimenter of space, rips the bud off, and lights that end.

He chokes a bit on the inhale.

Rollo blew his high. It’s time to get it back, to numb the pain.

Inhale. Drink.  Repeat.

The next day Bjorn, Floki and Rollo are at breakfast, but no one sees Ragnar. “I’m not doing it again,” Rollo says.

“Then I guess that’s it,” Floki looks concerned but Bjorn sighs as he leans back in his chair. “We can’t save him every time. He’s got to work this out for himself.”

Rollo nods and they all look to Ragnar’s closed door. It’s only Tuesday, and they’ve got six days left here.

“Maybe he’ll shake it off,” Floki says not quite convincingly.

“ _Maybe,_ we should have left his ass in L.A.” Rollo retorts bitterly.  It’s making him feel some type of way. He’d been the one to talk to Lagertha, to defend the man he calls a brother. But he can’t defend Ragnar now, and he knows Lagertha will find out about this. Ragnar is reverting to bad habits and it doesn’t take a mystic, seer or volva to foresee what’s about to go down.

It’s already started.

First comes the liquor. Then the women. And there are plenty of both here.

That’s Ragnar’s M.O., and he’s gotten away with it for years. It was fine when they were younger and didn’t know any better. But not now. For better or worse, Aslaug slowed him down. Lagertha forced him to a stop. But the loss of her is causing him to backslide. And Rollo can only shake his head and watch in silence as his best friend proceeds to screw himself a thousand times over.

None of the guys see him that day.

Or the next.

But there’s been a steady stream of traffic in an out of Ragnar’s room.  The fourth day Bjorn goes to check, using the key and when he opens the door, he’s hit with a cloud of smoke. Next comes the actual smell.

After a week of god only knows what, it’s devolved into a mixture of stale cigarettes and weed, and broken dreams found in a dingy liquor store…like a seedy strip club with no cover charge. Or, to be blunt about it—the ass end of a brothel.

Through the haze he sees porn playing on the tv. The bed is covered with…bodies…slowly moving…writhing, and the sounds are either coming from the video or the bed, he’s not quite sure which. When he squints he catches sight of Ragnar through the haze that permeates the room. Two brunettes presently engaged on him, one head bobbing near his waist, and the rest, doing each other.  Bjorn just shakes his head in distaste before turning back around and leaving.

“Is he still alive?” Floki asks when Bjorn comes back.

“Depends on how you define that. He’s still breathing at least.” There are six people in the room at the moment. Who knows how many others have come and gone?

Rollo walks over, and Bjorn fills them both in on what’s going down.

They don’t see Ragnar again until check out, when he comes up stumbling up and reeking of weed, eyes bloodshot. His clothes are wrinkled and he’s puts on aviator shades, baseball hat slug low. Once they board the plane, he sinks into the seat next to Rollo and orders a jack and coke from the flight attendant.

It’s abundantly clear he’s still drunk, or high…probably both. And completely wasted.

“Ragnar…” Rollo starts to say something but decides against it.

And when they leave the airport, none of them know where he goes. And none of them even bother to ask.

.

.

**“Lothbrok Goes Down, Down Under”**

**August 15 Sydney, Australia** —Shieldmain’s Star Ragnar Lothbrok’s week in paradise left a trail of broken hearts and broken…other things. According to several sources, Lothbrok spent the week at the exclusive Lizard Island resort with at least a dozen paramours. The week-long fest is reported to have included drugs, alcohol and a party that, from those who were there, largely resembled an orgy. Not to mention a few thousand dollars in cleaning fees.

The 32-year-old star is in the middle of a divorce and at one point was linked romantically to his Shieldmaiden’s co-star, Lagertha Lowe. Lowe is dating writer/director Tim Nungesser, and couple has been spotted out and about, looking happy.

Meanwhile, several women are claiming to have slept with Lothbrok. Among them, an 18-year-old hotel waitress named Annie Seay. Seay says he invited her to his room where they had sex.

“He’s fun,” she said, describing the actor as “aggressive, primal and really kinky.”

Lothbrok was spotted in LAX looking bleary-eyed and slightly hungover as he came down the elevator dressed in flip-flops, ripped jeans and a t-shirt. He covered his face with his hat and walked outside without acknowledging reporters.

“Shieldmaiden’s” begins filming its third season in January.

[tmz.com](http://www.tmz)

.

.

Rollo’s phone is ringing. And when he sees the number on it, he debates whether to answer. He picks it up on the last ring.

“Is it true, Rollo?”

Siggy.

“Do you want the truth, or do you want a lie?” He asks.

“Truth.”

So he tells her what went down.

“What’s _wrong_ with him? Lagertha is going to be so upset. What is he trying to do? Is he deliberately trying to sabotage himself?” Siggy’s incensed. She’s gone out on more than a few limbs for Ragnar and he’s fucking blowing it.

“The night before we left, he saw Lags with her new boyfriend.”

She gets quiet a moment, and when Siggy speaks again, it’s sad.

 “So…this is what the fall looks like,” she says finally, remembering that first conversation with Lagertha…when she was trying to convince her friend to give Ragnar a shot. She’d argued his case for him. Hindsight is exactly that.

 “We’ve got the Emmy’s coming up…”

“I know. I don’t know what to tell you, Siggs.”

.

.

 “Do you know how much shit you’ve caused with the crap you pulled in Australia?” Torstein is screaming through the phone.

“No and I don’t care. I pay _you_ to clean it up. So clean it up,” he rhetorts.

“Not that simple, asshole. You better _pray_ there are no photos. Tell me you used something at least.”

Ragnar just laughs sardonically, full of contempt. “I might have left behind a few kids. Hell, they’ll have a better shot than the last two did.”

“Not funny. Get your shit together, man.  That Annie chick is about to publish a story about her sexcapades with you. I can’t _believe_ you did that. She’s _18_ for christsakes.”

At that, it becomes not so funny. He gets defensive. “So what? She’s legal, and yeah, I used something.”

“You better have. Fuck. I gotta figure out what the hell to do with this. And by the way, you might also want to call your attorney. Aethelwulf has been calling me all day.”

Torstein hangs up, but not before Ragnar hears him swearing to himself and cursing his name.

He takes a drink of water, and steadies himself before making the next call.

“Aethelwulf Wessex here.”

“Hi Aethelwulf, Torstein said you…needed to speak to me?”

His attorney is uncharacteristically blunt about it.

“You’re not helping me help you,” he says. “You’re wife claims you cheated, and then you go out and actually do it.”

“Look, it just happened. It wasn’t…”

“I don’t care. I’m just informing you, as your attorney, that you’ve made it MUCH harder for yourself, and for me. Because Aslaug is now demanding you be stripped of your parental rights. And I have to fight against THIS.”

Parental rights… Ragnar’s pulse begins to race.

“Aethelwulf, I’m not a bad dad. I messed up, but…how can she even claim that? I’ve done nothing to her, she hasn’t even let me near Ivar…”

“I’m not saying she’s right. But I am saying you need to lay low for a while. And fast. I HAD a court date for you. I worked hard to stop these continuances. Now I have to go back and ask for one. Let’s hope, for your sake, it gets granted.”

Aethelwulf hangs up the phone on him, leaving Ragnar to just stare at it a moment.

He’s still trying to cope with it all, when the third blow lands a few days later.

And as it always does, it comes through the buzzing of his phone.

It’s a hot day and he’s out at a local ranch riding, when his phone goes off in his pocket. Ragnar jumps down from his horse and ties it to a tree, settling down a moment to figure out what’s going on. When he sees it, it fills him with white-hot anger and he throws the phone, shattering it against the solid wood.

 There’s no one around to hear him rant, and yell and rage. So he gets to do it all, punching the tree until his hand is bloody.

Because Annie’s story has just dropped.

 

**“Lothbrok’s Lessons: BartenderTalks Sex with ‘Shieldmaiden’ Actor”**

_Meet Annie Seay. She’s the 18-year-old waitress who worked as a bartender in Australia’s exclusive Lizard Island Resort. She’s the girl who claims to have slept with Ragnar Lothbrok, the star of the hit series “Shieldmaiden’s Tale.” He just made People’s “Sexiest Men Alive” edition_

_and he’s known for being elusive, cagey even, in interviews. So far, Lothbrok has only done two this year, both with his co-star and rumored ex-girlfriend, Lagertha Lowe. But Seay says that aloofness ends at the bedroom door._

_Which is where she met him. In his bedroom at Australia’s Lizard Island resort._

_“He came up to the bar, got a beer then looked at me,” she says, recounting how they met. “He had this intense stare, like he was looking for something inside of me, almost. I asked him what else I could do for him and he said, “you could do me.’”_

_Seay says she went for it because, “what woman wouldn’t?”_

_They stayed together the entire week Lothbrok was at Lizard Island._

_“Yes, he pulled in other women,” she says, “but I was his favorite. He kept coming back to me.”_

_Seay is pretty. She’s 5’6, on the petite side, with bright blond hair and shining blue eyes. In a way, she sort of looks like a younger version of Lagertha Lowe. Does she get that, sometimes?_

_“Yes. People have told me I look like her a bit.”_

_Did Lothbrok say anything about it?_

_“No,” she says. “In fact, he barely said anything at all. And I thought that was odd.”_

_What does that mean?_

_“All we did was have sex. Sleep, wake up, have sex, eat, and sleep again.”_

_Did he talk at all?_

_“Yeah. But rarely was it anything, more like…directions. He didn’t want to get personal.”_

_What kind of directions?_

_“What he wanted,” she says. “He knows what he likes.”_

_And that is?_

_“Everything. All of it,” she says, and goes on to describe sex acts that would make Hugh Hefner and Larry Flint blush. “But mostly, he liked to watch us.”_

_How many women in all?_

_“I don’t know how many before me, but when I was there, there were about six of us.” Six. Plus two more who’ve told a similar story._

_Seay laughs. “Ragnar Lothbrok likes to fuck.”_

_That’s eight different women in one week and a $3,000 cleaning fee._

[www.tmz.com](http://www.tmz.com)

 

 

He’d lied to Torstein. There’s at least one photo. Of him and Annie, his mouth on her naked breast. He was high as fuck.

 The phone is broken. But it’s an i4. Long past the point of upgrading. With a sigh, Ragnar climbs back on his horse and guides them back to the ranch. It’s getting dark. And by the time he makes it home, its past 11. All he can do is go to sleep and try to not think about what the hell he did at Lizard Island. Plus, he’s near certain he broke his hand.


	40. Year 2: September

  **September**

A year.

Ragnar closes his eyes and finishes getting dressed. A light gray suit this time. Navy blue shirt. Tie. Torstein dressed him.  He did this same thing twelve months ago. But then, he’d had a beautiful woman that he couldn’t wait to see. Now, there is no beautiful woman. He’s going alone and neither is by choice.

 “If you don’t go you’ll be in breach of contract. And you don’t have $30,000 to pay back to them,” the agent had said.

The car is already outside waiting and when he arrives at the venue he stalks down the red carpet, stopping briefly for photos, unsmiling, hands in pockets.

A reporter for Entertainment Tonight pops a microphone in his face.

“I’m here with “Shieldmaiden’s Tale” star Ragnar Lothbrok. Ragnar you guys have had a big year. How does it feel?”

It feels like shit.

“It’s good. The fans are great.”

“What about you? How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“What happened in Australia?”

He doesn’t bother answering that one and brushes past the reporter into the auditorium. He’s the first to arrive in the section designated for the cast. As he settles in, Athelstan and Siggy are making their way down the aisle. Athelstan sees him first and the two embrace. Ragnar hugs Siggy.  

“Why didn’t you ride with us?”

“Didn’t want to be a third wheel,” he says.

Athelstan smirks. “Got enough of that in Australia?” Siggy kicks him.

“Ow! Shit woman. Those heels!”

“So you know, too.” It comes out flat.

 “Well, it’s not like you were discreet about any of it. It’s pretty much on all the gossip blogs,” Athelstan leans over to whisper to him. “I think that Annie woman has made more this year so far than all of us put together.”

Their conversation is cut short when Siggy spots Lagertha coming into the hall.

 “Lagertha!” She is getting up from her seat and moving down the aisle toward her friend. The two women exchange a hug. Athelstan comes down the aisle to get a hug as well.

“Hey guys!” She smiles at them, but when she looks beyond… the smile fades. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to sit next to him.

“Athelstan, Siggy, this is Max Hargrove. Max, my friends Athelstan and Siggy.”

Tim is gone. And Max is another of Caroline’s endless beards. He’s just a temporary though. Only for a night.

 The four make their way back to their seats but Lagertha can feel Ragnar’s eyes on her. She doesn’t bother returning his stare. The story is all over, everywhere. She’s read the sites, and Caroline has already confirmed it, so she knows it happened. That it’s true. And while she knows she shouldn’t feel any sort of way about what or who Ragnar does, she does anyway. It’s disgusting. _He_ is disgusting and she cannot stand to even look at him right now.

They sit through the ceremony, and clap politely but it’s a far cry from the victory celebration of last year. This time Shieldmaiden’s takes home only two awards—Best Supporting Actor for Athelstan, and costuming. It’s a shut out.

 Just as well. Lagertha had known all the off-screen drama was bound to overshadow their work. It’s a classic Hollywood snub. A way to appease the critics without directly acknowledging them. Politics of the business.  

The ceremony ends and its time to head off to the post-show parties. She has four mandatory appearances.

“Where to?” Max asks as they wait for their car.

The first stop is the ET party. They climb out the car, pose for more photos and walk into the venue. Lagertha sits for a quick interview and when she’s done, Max has a glass of wine waiting for her.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I wouldn’t be doing my job if your glass wasn’t full.”

She laughs.

“So what’s up with you and Lothbrok?”

“Nothing,” she says. And it’s true. There’s absolutely nothing going on between her and Ragnar. Not any more.

The second party is being thrown by Vogue. It’s far less hectic, more laid back. And it’s here she reconnects with Siggy and Athelstan. Siggy pulls her away to a quiet corner.

“Have you talked to him yet?”

“No.”

“Are you going to?”

“No.”

“Lagertha…you know what tonight is.”

She does. And it makes her just want to go home.

They make it to the third party.

“Getting tired yet?” She teases Max.

“I’m up for whatever you are, gorgeous.”

She knows he means it as a compliment. But the way he says it, and the way he’s looking at her makes it feel like a pass. She frowns.

“My bad. I didn’t mean to come on that hard.”

“It’s fine. I’m just—not interested. You are hot though,” she admits. And he is. Max is a model actually. But he’s too perfect. Too…something. He reminds her too much of Kalf.

The last party is the one thrown by the network. And it’s nearly 2:00 in the morning by the time they arrive. She’s about ready to drop. But when they climb out the car, Lagertha’s smiling and waving and posing for the cameras as she and Max make their way inside. As soon as they get in, she lets the smile drop.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Just water, thanks.” Max goes and she finds an available seat and settles in. She’s smoothing her dress when she catches a familiar smell. It’s almost Pavlovian.

“What do you want?”

“To talk to you.”

Ragnar is standing over her. He watches as her eyes come up to his. It’s almost like looking in slow motion. Her lashes are long, made longer by the mascara and they drop and then float up as she lift her face, her eyes coming to meet his.

“I don’t think we have anything to say to each other.”

“I think we have a lot to say to each other.” He leans down to whisper into her ear.

“I don’t want anything. But…it’s been a year, Dove.”

She knows what he’s talking about and her hand unconsciously goes to her belly. There’s a sudden rush of heat in her chest, and he can tell—she looks like she’s about to cry. Ragnar pulls her up from her seat gently and they make their way outside to the patio.

When Max comes back with water, Lagertha is gone.

She takes a seat on the couch and Ragnar sits next to her. The breeze blows her dress, making it billow.

“You look good,” he tells her after a moment. Lagertha’s dressed in a red, one shoulder gown. It’s fitted at the top and billows around her at the bottom. The multi-layered diamond necklace finishes the look.

“Thank you.”  It’s all she offers. This isn’t easy. It’s uncomfortable, something Ragnar isn’t used to feeling around her.

He settles for honesty. “I miss you.”

“I don’t see why. _You’ve_ been busy.” It’s a jab.

He hits back. “What happened to _Tim_?”

She looks at him and raises one perfectly arched eyebrow. “What happened to _Annie_?”

They’re about to fight.

 Ragnar rolls his eyes and exhales. “Don’t go there.” Because it’s still raw. He’s not proud of what he did and it’s not something he wants to discuss, especially with her.

“No— _you_ stop it. What do you want?”

 “I want my family back.”

When it comes out, there’s the familiar tightness in his chest, the twist in his stomach and the burn in his chest. It’s these things he’s been trying to drink away, smoke away, fuck away—anything…so he doesn’t have to feel them because when he does, it’s a reminder of everything he’s lost, everything he gave up. His brothers were right, as usual. It’s like a steady trip downward.

For a while, with Lagertha, Ragnar had been trying to be better, to be worthy of her.  But now that she is gone, it’s like he’s being dragged backward, and there’s nothing he can grasp onto to stop it.

Ivar. Aslaug. Sigurd. Lagertha.

Each a consequence of a bad decision. Each a punishment for his stupidity. It feels futile to even hope for another chance at this point.

Lagertha is curled up on the couch, her legs drawn up under her dress, watching Ragnar warily. His shoulders are hunched as he leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. What she wants is to comfort him, to comfort herself too, because it’s been a year since they made their son and she’s feeling the loss more acutely right now than she has in months. But that grief is compounded by Ragnar’s physical presence, and she’s torn between crying into his shoulder and wanting to just slap and shake him. He’s managed to hurt her all over again with the crap he pulled in Australia.

She had believed their love was special. What she had shared and given to Ragnar was deeply intimate and personal. Lagertha was honest with him, telling him everything, trusting in him. And when she finally did commit, she genuinely felt he was equally as sincere.

Aslaug popped that illusion.

Annie and Australia murdered it.

Aslaug made her question everything.

Annie’s story just confirmed lingering doubts.

What is the difference between her and them?

Violated and betrayed.

It’s one thing to think your bedroom is sacred, it’s another to have people telling you what goes on in it from personal experience.

She feels embarrassed, ashamed. Embarrassed to now be attached to a list of names of women she doesn’t know; ashamed that of all the men in the world, this one has managed to humiliate her. Not even at the lowest point with Kalf had she been so tortured.

 “…All I wanted was to be a family with you. I wanted to try again…I guess I wanted…redemption,” Ragnar’s rueful laugh slowly brings her out of her own thoughts. He’s leaning forward, talking aloud but not looking at her, staring ahead at the wall.

“… The first time she told me she loved me, I didn’t think it was serious. The second time though…it got real all of a sudden…and I wasn’t ready for that. So I cheated on her,” he shakes his head, staring at the ground. “When she got pregnant, I was pissed. I blamed her for tricking me into it. We were married beause I felt guilty. She said yes because she was mad. I started the fire. And it’s still burning.” The confession. He’s talking about Aslaug. Lagertha snaps back to the present quickly. Ragnar finally told the truth.

He’s still talking, and now has her undivided attention. But what he says next nearly sears all the other things away.

“I miss Ivar. I miss Sigurd. And I miss you.”

“Then _why_ did you do it?” It’s soft, and he turns to look at Lagertha. She hasn’t moved, isn’t moving. But at least she’s speaking now.

“Why…Australia?” It keeps coming back there. “Why, Ragnar?”

He shakes his head in shame. “I couldn’t take the idea of you…and Tim. I was angry, and I was hurt and I was jealous. And it started, and it got out of control. I lost control. I lost you…I lost Sigurd…I lost Ivar…and I just couldn’t handle anymore losses. It was escape, to zone out, to try and forget. I didn’t want to feel anything. I wanted to be numb….I wanted it to stop.”

But it didn’t stop. And it hasn’t stopped.

Never has she seen him look so miserable. So defeated. She’s not used to it and while she thinks she should feel victorious in this moment—she doesn’t. What she feels is the exact opposite.

For the first time, Lagertha thinks she can see…perhaps even understand Ragnar’s behavior and his anger. He’s now lost two families—and she knows, he’s already told her—that it’s the one thing he wants most in the world.

_I want to teach them, love them, train them, and watch them grow. I want to be a good father. I want the chance to at least…try._

He’s been close twice, and both times it’s been taken away. She’s lost one child, Ragnar has lost two. Lagertha’s hand goes to her belly, remembering how it felt when Sigurd was still there fluttering away, how it felt when Ragnar put his hands there too. Even then, even when she was so angry at him, he always felt right…so right it had physically hurt.

Like it does now.

They were together every single day for nearly a year. And they were still together, even after the fight. Even after the loss. The night of her first date with Tim, Ragnar didn’t say anything—he just invited her to his farm. And she knows he’d had to swallow his pride to take that.

Only now is she realizing he kept his promise.

He had been there for her all those months, never leaving her, wife be damned.

But she did leave him.

And she didn’t tell him, either. She just... did it, slowly pulling away. Looking back there’s a clear pattern. They were trying—she was trying, even after Iowa...all that time and still together…what had made her say yes to Tim?

Denial. Denial about the fact she was slowly coming back to Ragnar and a desire to fight it the only way she knew how. The look on his face when she told him that day she had a date…Ragnar may have lied, but he’d also tried so very hard. Even his mother had told her _… my son’s in love for the first time in his life._

Lagertha moves closer to him on the couch, leaning down to raise Ragnar’s face to hers. The complete look of devastation in his eyes shatters her, and she kisses him gently, slowly, tasting him and breathing him in. Irish Spring soap.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry we lost Sigurd, and every day I regret not telling you the truth from the start.”

A single tear falls down her face and Ragnar pulls Lagertha down and onto to his chest. She hears the sound of his heart beat. His hands go to her belly and rub gently.

“Tell me…did you…have sex with Tim?”

She inhales sharply but doesn’t say anything and in her silence he knows the answer.

“I guess that’s yes.” He kisses the top of her head.

He won’t deny it hurts. Her body, her pleasure and her love were his and his alone. And his heart belonged to her only, and it still does. He knows he will never love anyone else. And what burns is the knowledge that Tim has had what he’d worked so hard to awake in her.

It’s another loss. Another bitter pill.

A cool breeze comes through, ruffling her dress. She shivers. Ragnar shifts a bit to take off his suit coat, wrapping it around her shoulders. They stare out over the city, so bright and busy around them as they sit quietly, lost in separate thoughts.

Even now, wrapped up in his arms, she can’t deny he still feels so right. Like she was born to be here, with him. It feels like they were made for each other. And holding her, he can’t help feeling that this is where he should be. And that she is who he should be with. But too much has happened. And the waters between them are wide, and deep.

She lifts her face to his. He lowers his head to hers. They kiss softly, quietly. His hands on her belly, hers over his.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The sound of a door opening startles them both. Lagertha looks up to see Max walking out on the patio. Ragnar sees him as well and looks at her.

 “Guess this means time’s up.”

It’s said with resignation and she knows immediately he’s right. Their time is up.

There is no more them.

She can’t even look at Ragnar as she gets up, handing him back his jacket before walking over to Max.

“Hey! You disappeared on me. I thought I got left behind,” he says, handing her a water.

 She drinks from it, using the cup to still her shaking hands.

“You ok?” He asks looking down at her worriedly then in the direction she has just come. Max sees Ragnar standing there, hands in pockets, looking at them.

“Time to go home?” He asks.

She nods, giving him a soft smile. “Thanks. You’ve been an awesome beard, tonight.”

 He laughs as they walk back into the party and toward the elevators that will take them to the lobby, into their car and back to the hotel where she’s staying for the evening.

Max knows he’ll probably never see her again. Women don’t make their beards their boyfriends.

It’s September. It’s been a year.

She sleeps alone. He does too. But they share the same dream.

Sigurd.

So tiny… so perfect…and so blue.

.

.

The remainder of the year is spent on opposite sides of the world. Lagertha returns to filming her movie, a romantic comedy.  Ragnar takes Torstein and Athelwulf’s advice and lays low. Ireland. A quick Indie flick.

 The women are nice. But he’s not interested.

His heart isn’t in it. And his body doesn’t respond.

 No cigarettes.

No liquor.

No beer.

No sex.

A full detox.

It’s just work. Work is all he has. Work is all he does. Work. Go home. Wake up. Work. Go home.

She’s got several offers. More possible beards. But she’s not interested, and no force on earth can make her do it. For the first time in years, she’s truly single. He is too.

 And they’re both feeling very much alone.


	41. Year 3: January

**January**

_The birth was difficult, but Shreya had not expected recovery to take so long. Their son is five months old, and he is demanding. She takes the time to nurse him, but her body is still too weak for her husband’s affections. Valdemar desires her, but she cannot meet his physical demands. He tells her that he loves her, that he can wait—but she knows that no man waits for long. There is a new face in their town, a woman who has captured her husband’s attention. He does not believe that she notices, but Shreya is always aware of everything around her._

_For the first time she begins to fear her position, her place by her husband’s side. She prays he will not ask her…she will not grant it. She cannot grant it._

_Her husband is hers alone. And Shreya does not, nor will she ever share._

_._

_._

Lagertha puts down the script and stares out the window of her Toronto apartment, unsure of how she’s supposed to feel about this. It’s been a long break in an even longer year.

Her phone rings and she answers it, not bothering to look at the number.

“Hey Pussy Willow.”

Kalf.

“What?” It’s defensive. He hears it and immediately changes his tone.

“Hey, I’m not calling to ask you to come back or anything. I just wanted to check and see how you are doing.” There’s compassion there, concern. And she’s immediately suspicious. Kalf has never cared about anyone or anything but himself.

“I’m doing fine.”

“No, you’re not. I know you. We were married for five years.”

“And you didn’t give a shit then, so why do you all of a sudden care, now? Especially after what you said and did to me last year.” She snaps.

“I wanted to call earlier but figured you wouldn’t answer. I’m surprised you picked up,” he says. “I saw all the stuff about Australia. And Caroline told me a few things as well. I’m sad to see you’ve had to deal with all that.” Lagertha rolls her eyes and sighs out loud, not buying Kalf for a moment. He hears it.

“Look Willow, I’m sorry about selling you out. I was mad.  I just wanted to let you know I’ll be in Toronto soon. I’d like to see you, if you’re willing,” he says.

Lagertha just stares at her phone.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know. You’ve got the number.” He hangs up, and Lagertha gets up to go to her bar, pulling out a Cabernet and pouring a glass.

.

.

 “Athelstan are you ready?” Siggy calls down the hall. “The car should be here soon.” He emerges from his room and comes striding toward them giving Siggy a hug. 

“Did you read that first script?” He asks Ragnar.

“Yeah.”

“Sucks for you guys,” Athelstan says, giving him a bit of sympathy.

Ecbert’s office is in downtown Toronto. And when they walk into the large conference room, there’s a tall slender, dark-haired woman already seated at the table.

She stands.

“Hi, I’m Kwenthrith Mercia.” They make introductions as Ecbert strides in. Lagertha shows up a few minutes later.

“I’m so glad you all have met each other. Kwinthrith will be playing Celene—Ragnar, Valdemar will get a new love interest this season. And Lagertha, Shreya will be in for the fight of her life. But Celene is not quite what she seems, and Shreya will have to defend her husband or risk losing him. You all will be tested. This will be difficult, but I promise this will be the best season yet.”

Ragnar and Lagertha just look at Ecbert and nod.

They settle into the first read, and he spends most of his time trying hard to ignore the looks Kwinthrith keeps giving him. She’s eye-fucking him across the table.

Afterward when everyone has left, she comes up and gets close. Extremely close.

“Hey…I just want to tell you I’m looking forward to getting to know you a lot better.” Kwinthrith smiles, running her finger down his chest and leaning in so that only he can hear her. “Are you really like Annie says?”

Ragnar looks at her but doesn’t say anything as she slips him her number.

.

.

“I feel like it’s been forever since I saw you,” Siggy says sipping her sangria. They’re at a bistro in downtown Toronto, settled into an outdoor table in the middle of the day.  “Why does it feel like these months have just dragged?”

Lagertha sips her own drink. She’s been drinking a lot, lately.

“I know. When was the last time…” she thinks about it. Probably the afternoon she and Ragnar went for lunch…that was…August?

“September?” She offers. Siggy nods.

That was four months ago.  “So catch me up. You never told me exactly what happened to Tim. And I thought you and Ragnar were trying and then you weren’t. And there was that random Emmy guy, what was his name?”

“Max,” Lagertha says. “And I swear I’m starting to really hate the Emmy’s.”

“So what happened this time?” Siggy left the day after to shoot a movie in Hawaii. It’s the first time the two women have had an opportunity to talk to each other in four months.

“We spoke. We ended it. It’s probably for the best anyway. Everything was just…too much.”

Siggy studies Lagertha closely. Her friend is stirring the drink in her hands with a straw, not looking up.

“And how do you feel about that?”

“I don’t really know, to be honest. I haven’t felt much of anything lately.”  

She hasn’t felt anything in four months. Not since they kissed their last goodbye.  Even when she saw Ragnar earlier, at the first read, she hadn’t felt anything. They didn’t speak to each other. Just a nod of acknowledgement.

Siggy frowns. She knows that place well. “What happened to Tim? I thought you two were dating.”

Tim…Lagertha closes her eyes and sighs, remembering what Ragnar had told her earlier that night. He was being mean and spiteful, and so was she, but it doesn’t negate the fact he was correct.

“I never should have done that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...it wasn’t…good. I didn’t feel anything with him. I wanted to. It just didn’t happen. I tried.”

Lagertha doesn’t tell Siggy what happened in the club, what led up to it.  But she doesn’t have to. Siggy knows enough. Rollo told her. And she still shares a house with Ragnar. She had witnessed the hurt written across his face when Lagertha went out on her “date”. He was drunk for days before he finally took off to Los Angeles. And the next thing she knows, she’s reading about his Australia bender.

 “Lagertha…” Siggy weighs her next words. “Why did you do that to him?”

“Do what? And which him?”

“Ragnar.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Siggy shakes her head.

 “The man cannot control the courts, Lagertha. Ragnar was wrong for not telling you about Aslaug and Ivar. But you have to know why he did it. You were wrong as two left feet for leaving him for Tim—especially because you knew perfectly well how he felt. And don’t try to say you didn’t. He went out and filled your nursery. He stayed at your condo with you. He took care of you and tried to be with you and you stepped out with someone else. You should have broke it off earlier. But you didn’t. You let him keep thinking you two were on the mend. So yes, he was wrong as hell for Australia—not excusing that…but Lagertha, you can lie to the world, but you cannot lie to me.”

Lagertha stares into her drink, rotating the straw slowly. “We needed to let go. He wouldn’t. So I did it for the both of us.”

Siggy doesn’t buy it.

Ragnar is miserable without Lagertha. And she can tell Lagertha is miserable without him.

What a shit show.


	42. Year 3: February

**February**

 Ragnar has been spending more and more time outside the house than in it. And one day, Athelstan says something.

“Where the hell have _you_ been?”

They’re both by the pool drinking and lounging and doing nothing. Siggy’s out with Lagertha.

“Camping mostly, up at the lake.”  

“Camping…” Athelstan mulls it. “Seeking solitude, isolation…”

“Peace. And SILENCE,” Ragnar grumbles.

Athelstan deliberately ignores him. “So, Australia aside, how else did you spend the break? Did you see Lagertha?”

A roll of the eyes and a long exhale.

“I don’t want to talk about Lagertha.”

“Yeah you do. You need a sounding board—something, because you can’t repeat what you did on Lizard Isle and anything else will be completely unproductive,” Athelstan says. He knows exactly what happened there and why it happened. He also knows Ragnar isn’t over her. It’s the extended moping. The increased isolation.  The heavy drinking and the chain smoking.

“It’s done,” Ragnar says, taking a long drink of his whisky.

Speaking it out load gives it a finality he hasn’t wanted to acknowledge. But now that it’s out there, the words singe. He looks down into the caramel colored liquid contemplating. He’d thought his life was screwed before Lagertha. But he didn’t realize that he’d been relatively insulated from the real hurt—the pain that comes with loving. Loving is the hardest thing he’s ever had to deal with, and there’s a big part of him that regrets ever having fallen in love with Lagertha Louise Lowe.

There has got to be a way out of this. If he can fall in love, he can force himself to fall out of it. It’s beyond time to move on. She told him it was over five months ago and he’s still stuck on her. Ten women later, and he’s still fucking stuck. No matter what, he can’t erase her. There’s got to be something else.  

Maybe its time for Number 11.

He hasn’t had sex in six months. Time to end the drought. Ragnar reaches into his pocket and makes a call. Athelstan hears a woman’s voice on the other end.

“Yeah. I’ll be over in 30.”

Athelstan just looks at him and shakes his head. It’s not his business. But he also knows who that voice belonged to. Ragnar is about to make yet another shitty ass decision.

“ _Don’t_ do it, man.” It gets ignored.

Thirty minutes later and he is at Kwinthrith’s apartment. She opens the door and he closes it behind him, turning her around to face the wall and lifting her skirt. No panties.

“Pick your poison,” she whispers. “Everything is available.”

He considers his choices while unzipping his pants, strapping up, and makes it--deciding Kwinthrith will get exactly what she wants, where she wants it.

Slowly he wraps her long dark hair around his hand and pulls her head back, pushing her against the wall.

 “This will hurt, just so you know.”

“I like the pain.”

Something in the way she says it makes him pause. He holds Kwinthrith there, her back to him. But he pulls away, realizing exactly what he was about to do. Another mistake.  One not even worth it. He does not like her. Is nowhere near interested. He forces himself to go back down.

“What are you waiting for?”

Ragnar is silent as he puts himself away, dropping the unused condom on the floor and zipping up his pants.

“Where are you going?” Kwinthrith is staring at the back of his head in complete disbelief, but he doesn’t turn around as he walks down the hall and takes the stairs two at a time to the ground floor.

He didn’t say anything when he came in. He barely spoke at all. And he doesn’t give her a response now. He’s dead silent as he leaves.

Kwinthrith is accustomed to using men. What she’s not accustomed to, is being rejected. And she doesn’t quite know how to feel about what just happened as she wraps her arms around herself.

.

.

“Hey Lagertha, you’ve got a guest,” the producer sticks his head into the makeup room. She’s sitting in the chair, her stylist weaving the elaborate braids into her hair.

“Who is it?” She never has guests on set. And there are no interviews she has to do either.

“Hedeby?” The producer says looking down at his clip board.

Shit. Her ex-husband is here.

“Margarethe, are you almost finished?” She asks.

The stylist nods. “Just two more,” she mutters under hear breath as her nimble fingers work across Lagertha’s hair. Ten minutes later and she’s released for wardrobe. By the time she makes it back to her dressing room, Kalf is there, seated on the sofa. He gets up when she walks in and they just stare at one another.

Kalf is tall…taller than she remembered, his dark hair pulled back in a pony tail. He’s got on pressed pants and a white shirt, his tie draped across his neck. The clothes are tailored—the only style he likes and she is reminded of what is underneath them. But no matter how hard the body or sexy the man, what’s inside always reveals itself. And she knows exactly who and what she’s dealing with here.

It’s been a year since she saw him last, the night he showed up unannounced to her condo. The night Ragnar was with her.

“Hey Willow.” He smiles, that same charming smile he’d used when they were dating, when she was still young and didn’t know any better. It’s the smile she swooned over, and the same one he’d used to try and trap her into staying with him. She knows it well.

Lagertha crosses her arms. “I don’t think I called you.”

He laughs, standing up and walking over to her, wrapping her in a back hug.

“You didn’t. I thought I’d stop in anyway. I’m leaving tomorrow and I just wanted to see you.”

“Well, now you’ve seen me. Goodbye.” She unwraps herself from his embrace and turns to leave but Kalf grabs her arm and pulls her around to face him, his eyes burning into hers.

“Did you honestly think Ragnar could _ever_ be better than me?” He breathes into her neck. “If you wanted a baby, all you had to do was say so. I would have done it and saved you a boatload of trouble.”

It’s low. Lagertha feels her blood run hot. When Kalf bends down to kiss her she bites his lip, causing him to yell and draw back.  

He turns around to slap her—the hit so hard it sends her down to the ground.

No one has ever struck her before. And the pain begins to coalesce into something far more real to her…white hot rage. When Lagertha gets up she throws a hard right—catching Kalf across the jaw, and she follows it with a kick to his chest knocking him backward on his ass. He pulls down a cabinet as he falls, making it crash onto the ground. The sound is loud, echoing down the hall.

Before he can get up she’s at the door, outside of it, and holding it open. There are no more words. Kalf stumbles up and out, cursing at her and holding his jaw.  He bumps into someone in the hallway.

Ragnar is just turning the corner when he hears the crash from Lagertha’s dressing room, and its instinct--he takes off in that direction. He approaches right as the door opens and a man comes stumbling out, muttering a string of curses and holding his jaw. Kalf bumps right into Ragnar and looks at him, smirking.

“Hey Willow! Your dead baby’s father is here!” It’s the wrong thing to say.

The movement is quick. Ragnar grabs Kalf by the shirt, spinning him around and slamming him against the wall. He’s furious and in the process of swinging when Lagertha steps between Kalf and his fist and tries to pull the two men apart.  

“Ragnar, don’t do it. He’s not worth the energy,” she says, imploring him to stand down.

She doesn’t want a scene. It’s the last thing either of them need right now.

“Ragnar…,” she says his name again, her hands on his arm, trying to push it down. 

Reluctantly, he releases Kalf. Lagertha’s ex-husband snickers at them and walks casually down the hall. “ _Not_ sorry for your loss,” he calls.

Ragnar moves to go after him again, but she she steps in front of him, putting her hands on his chest, blocking him from going after her ex-husband.

“PLEASE…” It’s forceful, her eyes are staring into his and he just looks at them, blinking, but not fully seeing. A hand comes to rest on his cheek.

“ _Please,_ don’t, Ragnar. Let. it. go,” she commands, grabbing his hand and bringing them to her dressing room.

His blood is still hot and his pulse is racing and all he really wants is to go after Kalf and beat him into the ground…and he damn near does once he gets a long look at Lagertha.  

She’s seated on her couch, holding the side of her face. He comes over and removes the hand, seeing the red imprint that’s starting to form. It takes a good deal of will to not say anything as he bites the inside of his jaw and grits his teeth, trying to tamp down on his anger. After a moment, he goes to the freezer to get ice and wraps it in a towel before bringing it back to her.

“Thanks,” she says putting it on the side of her face. They sit quietly.

“ _Why_ was he even here?” It comes out slow. What he’s thinking and feeling at the moment don’t lend itself to more words.

“He called a few weeks ago, saying he was going to be here and wanted to see me. I told him no…but clearly that didn’t stop him,” she says bitterly.

Ragnar looks at Lagertha, even more upset about what just happened. It shouldn’t have, and if he’d been with her, it wouldn’t have. This has got to stop. And he’s stopping it now.

Her way hasn’t worked.

His way hasn’t worked.

Ragnar is exhausted. Physically, mentally and emotionally as well. Just…done. With everything.

“I don’t want to fight you anymore.” He tells her, exhaustion in his voice. “I’m tired.”

Lagertha lays her head on his shoulder. It’s taken too much energy to be mad, to keep denying what they both know is true. She’s beyond worn out.

“Me too.”

They’ve finally hit the bottom.

.

.

It’s late by the time they wrap filming, and Ragnar walks Lagertha back to her dressing room. It’s been a long day, but there’s a lot they have to discuss.

“Can you come over?” She asks. He nods.

They get changed and hitch a car into the city, and as they enter her apartment building Ragnar remembers the last time he was here. The day Sigurd should have been born. Nine months ago. The last time he made love to Lagertha.

The day he packed up the nursery and put it all into boxes.

They go into her room where she settles on the bed, taking off her shoes. He follows, sitting down next to her as she lays her head on his shoulder. After a moment, he wraps his arm around her, pulling them both down into the bed and under the covers.

“I tried everything to stop loving you, but I can’t.” It’s his confession. The thing that keeps driving him to throw one bad decision after the other. Her fingers lace through his.

“I tried to erase you. But, it didn’t work.” Lagertha turns her face into the crook of his arm and inhales. Irish Spring soap.

The first year they were so happy. Too busy falling in love to think of anything else.

The second year their world fell down, too busy hurting each other to focus on anything else.

Now it’s their third year. And only now are they trying to find a way out of the mess they’ve made.

“Can we please try again?” Ragnar shifts slightly so he can hold her better.

“Only if we can start over.” Lagertha looks up at him, reaching for his beard and stroking it gently. He’s always loved when she does that, and he lowers his head to kiss her.

Their lips touch. It’s been a long time since he’s had this warmth, this…intimacy. And he’s only ever had it with her. It’s this that he’s tried and failed repeatedly to recapture. The magic he’s been seeking. The thing only she has been able to give him.

Lagertha gets up to take off her clothes, leaving on her underwear and Ragnar follows. They climb back into bed, and listen to the sound of each other’s breathing.

“I’m Ragnar…” he starts, feeling her scoot closer to him. Her lips gently touch his. “I’m married, but am trying to get a divorce. I have a two-year-old son, and I hope, one day, I’ll be able to raise him to be a better man than me.” Their foreheads and noses touch as he whispers to her.

 “I fell in love with a woman. And I didn’t tell her about my son or my wife, because I didn’t want to lose her. We made a baby together. She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved outside of my mom. But my lie cost me my little family. And I carried the guilt around with me. I couldn’t take the pain. So I tried to drink it away. But that didn’t work. And I tried to sex it away. But that only made it worse.”

Their lips meet again and he wraps his arms around Lagertha, rolling her over on top of him, so he can feel her on his body. She’s warm and soft and firm and…secure. Her presence is comforting. Soothing.

Her hair spills over his face as she looks down on him. They’re both still under the blankets.

“I’m Lagertha,” her voice trembles a bit, and he kisses her gently again. “My ex-husband is an asshole, and my other ex…well…it got complicated,” she says. “He was the only man I ever loved, and even though I knew he was flawed, I decided he was worth it.”

She shifts a bit, her legs straddling his hips. Ragnar’s rough hands slide slowly down her sides and into her underwear.

“I loved him so much I let my guard down, and I let him in. I trusted him. But, I found out he lied to me, and I hated him for it, even when he was trying to apologize. I wanted to punish him, to make him hurt the way he made me hurt. So I found someone else. But it didn’t work. All we did was end up hurting each other.”

The last part is said with hitched breath. Ragnar’s mouth is on her neck…his hands in the process of tearing her underwear off. She bites her lip, trying to control the lust between her legs. It’s obvious where they’re heading and no matter how badly she wants him, Lagertha knows if they’re going to start over, they have to start from scratch. She climbs off and lays down, her head against his chest.

Ragnar turns to face her as she plays with the hair on his chest.

“No.”

He exhales deeply and pulls her close. If he wants this relationship, he’ll have to follow her rules.

“Can we start tomorrow?”

It’s the first joke he’s cracked in months. Lagertha laughs in his arms.

“It’s already tomorrow,” she says reaching across him for her phone and tapping the screen. 12:03 a.m.

He groans, but it’s lighthearted. He can do without it, for a while, because what he’s got is even better. He has intimacy. And he has love. And he has it with her.  They snuggle.

Today is Valentine’s Day.

"I love you," he tells her quietly, a kiss on her neck. "But if Kalf comes back, you will NOT get in my way. Understand?"

Because he has not forgotten about what happened. And when, not if that time comes, he will not let Lagertha stop him again. Third strike, and Kalf is out.


	43. Year 3: March

**March**

It takes time to rebuild a relationship once it’s been damaged. This time, though, they’re both trying.

It’s a weekend he’s been planning for a while.

“Where are we going?” Lagertha asks as they ride out in a rented truck. All Ragnar has told her is to pack a bag. But he hasn’t said what the plan is, or even where they’re going.

“You’ll see,” he tells her, flipping through his new phone to find what he wants. George Straits “All My Exes” comes on, and Lagertha cracks up.

“Really?”

Ragnar smiles innocently. “What? I like George Strait.”

She chuckles. “I guess that’s why you lay your hat in Toronto, huh?”

They pull up to the docks and this time, Lagertha climbs out too as Ragnar goes over and greets the manager.

Soon, they’re loaded up and Lagertha kicks her feet up on the dash and rolls down the window, enjoying the air. She knows where they’re going and she’s already happy.

There is no one at the lake when they arrive, but instead of pulling up to the boat launch, Ragnar takes them in another direction, toward a partially secluded wooden cabin. He parks the truck and climbs down coming over to the side.

She hops down too and follows him, waiting as Ragnar gets out a key and unlocks the door.

“How long have you had that?” She asks.

“I found this place when we moved here. There’s a nice old lady who owns the property and she gave me the key. I can use it whenever I want. I come and go as I please,” he tells her, holding the door as she steps inside.

It’s a small space, with a little kitchenette on one side, and a full sized bed on the other. In the middle is a table with two chairs, and on is a checkered tablecloth, two candles and a two-person place setting.

She smiles as Ragnar goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two beers, and two sandwiches, along with macaroni salad. He comes back and begins set their lunches. Lagertha settles into a chair.

“I can’t cook,” he explains, intently focused on his work as she watches with amusement.

“But I can at least feed you.”

.

.

It’s midday by the time they finally launch the boat, and once they’re out far enough, Ragnar kills the engine and they’re just floating. Lagertha grabs a fishing pole and waits while he opens the cooler.

Ugh. The part she hates.

“What kind of bait?”

“Crickets,” he says. “I thought they’d be easier for you to handle.”

Sure enough, when the Styrofoam opens there are crickets. Lagertha reaches in and picks one up by the leg. She feels a bit bad for it, but manages to get him on the hook anyway. He squirms.

“Do you remember how to cast off?”

She nods, stepping close to the side of the boat, and releasing her reel. Lagertha draws back and swings, letting the line fly. It plunks down a good distance away and she puts the rod down into the little nook on the side of the boat for it. Ragnar does the same.

“Now, hopefully, dinner will come to us,” he says, picking up his phone again and sifting through a few titles. Satisfied, he syncs it to the boat, and Sam Cooke starts to sing to them.

“Dance with me?”

It’s their first fishing trip, all over again, and goodness if Ragnar isn’t a hopeless romantic. It makes her flush with warmth, remembering the first time they did this, how special it was, how good it felt. She goes to him and he pulls her close and they dance, quietly, slowly. Just sway, really, because the breeze feels wonderful, and they feel right to each other, and it’s a gorgeous day, and it’s just the two of them--completely alone and together.

 _If you ever change your mind_  
About leaving, leaving me behind  
Oh, oh, bring it to me  
Bring your sweet loving  
Bring it on home to me

“I love you, still,” he tells her softly as they sway.

“Forever and always,” Lagertha says, resting her head against his chest, content to stay here forever.

.

.

Ragnar may not be able to cook in a kitchen. But he’s a master chef with a fire and a roasting spit. Their catch is now cooking outside. Watching the business end of it though was…more than gross. They had put the fish into the cooler and come back to shore. After Ragnar put the boat back on its tow dolly, they’d gone to the cabin where he’d taken out a large hunting knife, and proceed to knock the fish on the ground, head first. Lagertha had gasped.

“It’s efficient,” he’d said. “To gut them alive would be cruel.”

It was morbidly fascinating to watch, but he’d made quick work of it, cutting off the heads and slicing them open, removing the innards and cleaning them out with the hose attached to the cabin. She had managed to find a few seasonings in the cubbords and those were used and Ragnar had put the fish on the spit where they are presently rotating over the fire.

And its starting to smell really, really good. So good in fact, her stomach rumbles. Loudly.

Ragnar looks around confused a moment by the sound then eyes Lagertha.

“Was that you?”

She nods, slightly embarrassed at her body’s betrayal.

“Tell your belly it will be fed shortly,” he says standing to come and hug her from behind, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. They stare into the flames.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?”

“For taking me back. For loving me. I know it’s not easy. And I just want to let you know how much I appreciate you for trying. I don’t want it to end without us having at least tried to make it work.”

She turns and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him close for a kiss.  

They’re still only a month into trying and it’s been blessedly quiet. They still lay their heads in different places. And no one sleeps next to them. The nights are still cold, and they both wish for and want the other. But he knows better than to ask. And she doesn’t want to rush it. It was never rushed before, and it won’t be now.


	44. Year 3: April

**April**

_Valdemar is torn. Torn between his beloved wife, and this strange new woman. This woman who calls to him in the middle of the night with promises of pleasure…of satisfaction for needs left unfulfilled. He looks at Shreya, sleeping peacefully beside him and swallows his guilt, rising quietly from their bed. She is still beautiful, still loyal, and even now he loves her with everything in him. May the gods forgive him for what he is about to do. He cannot even look at his precious new son. His joy. He must go to Celene. She haunts him in his dreams, and his waking thoughts are filled with her. His feet carry him out of his great hall, and down the small streets of their town, to the outskirts, where her small house sits. There is light shining through the walls and he enters—knowing it is already open for him. Celene awaits him on the bed, her skin glowing under the firelight, hair blacker than raven’s wings. She is naked. Open. Willing…and he joins her…_

She can’t watch the scene. Just…no. Not this one. When she read it, it made her shudder. And now, in studio, it’s even worse than reading it. Lagertha doesn’t want to look at Ragnar. And she doesn’t want to look at Kwinthrith. She can’t…but yet something compels her to watch and that something is Ecbert.

“You _have_ to watch,” the director tells her. “Lagertha, you have to _feel_ Valdemar’s betrayal. It’s not enough to read—you have to watch it. Get your head in the game. Get into the character—your beloved husband is about to sleep with another woman.”

Really, she doesn’t need to watch it, because all it’s doing is putting a visual to Australia. But Ecbert is insistent, and so she tries to remind herself they’re only acting. That this isn’t real and it doesn’t mean anything…

He’d rather be anywhere but here. Ragnar knew it would be bad, but he hadn’t imagined it would be quite like this. The studio lights are bright. It’s freezing, and he’s on top of a nearly naked woman not named Lagertha Louise Lowe. Valdemar is supposed to feel guilty, and Ragnar feels quite possibly worse. It’s just a scene, but he still feels like he’s committing some great sin against her. It doesn’t help he nearly fucked Kwinthrith once. And it also doesn’t help that she’s got wandering hands he can’t seem to keep at bay. And when those hands start trailing down his stomach and reach for his cock he really can’t help the completely involuntary reaction she generates in him.

“Mmmm…Valdemar…what can I do for you?” Kwinthrith’s eyes are low, her legs wrapping around him and this is supposed to be the moment when he surrenders to her…Ragnar’s trying not to, but she her hands grab his ass and she forces their bodies together, her lips finding his…

“Fuck me,” she whispers into his ear.

“And cut!!! Yes!!! Great stuff you two! Great! Fabulous! I LOVE it!”

He gets up as fast as possible, relief coming over him in waves.

“Did you get it? We don’t have to do another take, do we?” Ragnar’s anxious as hell. Ecbert waves at him dismissively. “Nope. Let’s get ready for the next one.”

He bolts from set, heading straight to his dressing room where he jumps into an ice cold shower, closing his eyes. But the only thing he sees is Lagertha’s pretty face, staring at him. And he knows this next scene is about to be ten times worse.

 Damn Kwinthrith. Damn Ecbert…damn his lack of self-control.

It’s been three months since he almost stuck his cock in crazy. And it’s been two months since he and Lagertha decided to start over. PLEASE don’t let this scene have ruined it…

Lagertha’s pissed and she’s far from dumb.

Watching Ragnar’s reaction to Kwinthrith makes her seethe more than a little bit, because she KNOWS Ragnar. And she knows just by the way he’s acting, _exactly_ what he did. Never has a man looked so damned guilty.

It doesn’t matter when. And it doesn’t matter where. But damn if he did, and with Kwinthrith Mercia of all people. Ugh. At this stage, she may as well take his ass to the vet for shots.

The motherfucker likely has fleas.

Her hand is shaking with the urge to hit something. No. _Someone_.

Season Three is intense. Ecbert had warned them, but they were not prepared for the emotional toll. Each show is grueling, forcing them to dig and touch on feelings they have been trying to get over.

She can’t WAIT for this next scene.

“That was ugly,” Siggy says coming up to her. The cast is on break, Ragnar’s in his dressing room doing whatever he’s doing, and they’re all just waiting for Ecbert to start again.

“mmm hmmm….” Lagertha says, not responding. She’s just rubbing her hands together slowly, cracking her knuckles.

“Lagertha…” It’s a warning. “Yes, Siggy?”

“What are you about to do?” Siggy doesn’t trust the smile on her friend’s face. Lagertha’s a little too calm. The smile a little too forced. “It was just a scene…”

“Uh huh. Just a scene,” Lagertha repeats, and Siggy knows immediately Ragnar’s in deep shit. She sighs. “It happened before you two got back together. Please don’t kill him.” She knows exactly why Lagertha’s pissed. Athelstan had told her about Ragnar and Kwinthrith and she’d chosen to remain silent as well.

“Oh, I’m not. I promise.”

Siggy just shakes her head as she spots Ragnar walking back to the set, dressed this time in his Valdemar armor.

Ecbert spots him too.

“Alight folks, we start in three minutes!” He says over the loud speaker. The camera crews move into position. The sound guys pick up their booms and shotgun mics.

Lagertha takes a few deep breaths and gets into character quickly. If she’s pissed…then Shreya is on fire.

Ragnar comes over, putting a hand on hers, but she doesn’t feel it.

“Positions people!” Ecbert calls. “And we’re going in 3…2…1….Action!”

_“My wife, please let me explain,” Valdemar says, his eyes and body pleading with his beloved. But Shreya is unmoved. And at the look in her eyes, he knows there is trouble._

_“I would like to hear you try, husband.” Her voice is like the tip of a sword thrust into his heart, and as he opens his mouth to stay something, he sees the open side of her hand flying toward his face._

_The first hit sends him stumbling backward, gripping his jaw as she advances on him. He’s trying to get himself together when the backside of her hand slaps him across the other cheek, sending him sprawling down to his knees._

Lagertha slaps Ragnar so hard it makes his head snap to the right.

And when she backhands him he drops to his knees seeing stars.

The hit is for all his lies, for the wife he kept hidden, the son he didn’t claim. It’s for the child they lost, the months of pleasure bookmarked by a year of indescribable agony. How much has she given and how much has she gained? 

The backhand is for the shit he did in Australia.

The slap is for the crap he pulled with Kwinthrith.

The sound of the impact echoes across the set, making even the videographers and the sound crew wince.

Lagertha glares down at Ragnar, holding his face in his hands….and she’s tempted to put her foot in his chest. So it’s exactly what she does. She dropkicks him, hard. And he goes sprawling backward down to the ground.

Ecbert freaks and comes running over, screaming.

“Cut! Cut! Good Lord, Lagertha! Are you trying to kill him?!”

Ecbert goes over to Ragnar as he’s getting up, trying to shake off what just happened.

Lagertha is slowly comes back to herself, and when she is finally able to focus again, she sees the red handprint on the side of Ragnar’s face. He’s looking at her with something between guilt, hurt and disappointment.

“I’m fine,” he snaps at Ecbert getting to his feet and brushing himself off, storming off set.

They’re trying to go slow. Rebuild. And they’d been doing so well until this point. But she sees now that this season will test them both. It will test their willingness to be with each other. How badly they want it. Because Ecbert is slowly weaving in their experiences into his stories. And it’s becoming cruel.

.

.

Ragnar comes home with an ice pack on his jaw.

“Shit man, that’s going to turn colors,” Athelstan says inspecting the damage.

“Yeah. Can’t wait for makeup in the morning.” He’s really not in the mood. Athelstan goes and grabs two beers, tossing him one.

“What happened?”

“Bad scene. Shreya discovers Valdemar’s betrayal.”

“Oh, that one—yeah. I read it. What happened?”

“Kwinthrith Mercia. The woman’s got wandering hands.”

“I told you not to do it. She’s…intense. Made ya’ll flash back?”

“I _didn’t_ do it. And more like made Lagertha flash back. I thought she was over it.”

Athelstan looks at him with disbelief in his face. “Say what, now?”

“What?”

“Um…Ragnar…let me give you a clue here, because I think you need it. It took Siggy and me more than two years from when we lost our daughter to even talk again. And I never lied to her. Nor did I ever screw her over. We were just hurt. Broken. And you’re complaining about one.”

“You two had a daughter?” How had he missed this?

“Yeah. Thyri. She was born early. Lived three days then died. We were devastated. Even now, we’re still…Athelstan looks up at the ceiling. “I stay because I love Siggy. This show is what’s brought us back together—brought her back into my orbit. I’m telling you this because Lagertha will likely slap your ass again—be grateful for it. When she stops slapping you is when you need to worry. So stop being a bitch and man up.”

Something about the way Athelstan says it makes Ragnar crack up. And Athelstan laughs too.

He gets it now. Athelstan and Siggy. Athelstan’s just like him. They’ve been in the same boat—trying to win back the women they love.

Ragnar raises his beer.

“To difficult women,” he says. “To difficult women,” Athelstan replies. They toast.

He’s laying on his bed later that night thinking about the day. He and Lagertha haven’t spoken outside of their scripted words, so he calls.

“Yes?” The voice on the other end is calm, and he’s not fooled.

“Was the kick necessary?” He asks, holding his chest. Always watch out for the legs.

“You fucked Kwinthrith.” It’s deadpan. Of course she would figure it out. Lagertha knows him way too well. It’s why he’s on forced celibacy.

“I almost did,” he tells her the truth. “But I didn’t go through with it.”

 “What does that mean? You either did or didn’t. Ragnar, Kwinthrith…” Lagertha sighs on the other end, stopping herself from judging the woman. She shakes her head, refusing to even go there. “Just…please tell me you were smart enough to use something all those times.”

He cringes at the conversation. “I did. And as for Kwinthrith—it was before we got back together. And I swear to you, none of that will ever happen again.”  

“Oh, I know it won’t. But it’s this sort of thing that just makes me disgusted with you all over again. To the point that I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t even want you to _look_ at me. I tried to ignore what you’re friends said, to give you the benefit of doubt. I tried to tell myself that your past wasn’t your present, that you weren't that man. And I tried to forgive you for Australia too. I also tried to separate you from your actions, but it keeps coming back, over and over again. Do you KNOW what your wife said to me? Do you KNOW how I felt reading about Annie? Do you even care? If you can’t figure out how to cope with shit any better than that, then we have a really big problem, and there’s absolutely no point in us carrying this any further. I’m _not_ going to settle, especially for your bullshit. I don’t get what the problem is, unless _you_ don’t love _yourself_. And if that’s true, then you definitely don’t love me. And I will tell you right now that I love myself way too much and you’ve taken risks that endanger both of us.”

Ragnar can hear Lagertha breathing on the other end of the line. And her words strike dead at his heart. Never has he been so called out…so…read. And he feels like crap because he knows she’s correct. It started as a defense. Then it became a game. Then a habit. And now…a placeholder. Something temporary to fill the increasing sense of loneliness he felt as he got older and watched his brothers and friends make families while he was left with nothing. It lost meaning, until he found Lagertha, who offered him a different interpretation.

It’s why he waited so long for her. It’s why he had worked so hard to be worthy of her.  It’s why he has no clue what his body count is but he knows hers. It’s why he was so angry and jealous and torn up about the fact she was with Tim—because he didn’t want her to become like him. 

At his extended silence, Lagertha exhales deeply. This conversation is certainly done.

 “Goodnight, Ragnar.”

This wasn’t the way he wanted their talk to go. And he definitely hadn’t expected her to say he disgusts her, but he can see why. Hell, he’s disgusted with himself. The shame of Australia still lingers and he has regretted Kwinthrith from the moment he went over there—even though he didn’t end up doing her.

Ragnar gets out of bed and finds some paper and a pen. He sits back down and starts to make a list, going back to the beginning. Maybe he can answer at least one of her questions. And give himself an answer as well.


	45. Year 3: May

**May**

The cast is between scenes taking a short break when Ragnar’s phone starts ringing.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Lothbrok.”

It’s his attorney, Aethelwulf.

Ragnar had been more than wary at first when Ecbert proposed it, but so far, he’s come to realize it was the right decision.

“Any news?”

“We’re making progress on the negotiations. It’s good you kept those text messages and the voicemails. I was calling to let you know, your wife still refuses to settle. But we’ve got a new court date. Hopefully, as long as you stay out of headlines, we can keep it this time.”

A date.

“When?”

“July 17.”

A time certain. Ragnar can’t figure out how he feels…nervous…excited…worried… What if it all fails? What if he loses? What then?

“Mr. Lothbrok? Are you there?”

“Yes,” Ragnar says, trying to focus. “Yes, I’m here. And I’ll be there.”

Either way…whatever happens…he tried his best.

He checks his pocket. The ring is still there.

**.**

**.**

 “I’m giving up my apartment,” Lagertha says. They’re at her place, settled on the couch and she’s curled under Ragnar’s arm. They’re back on speaking terms.  

“When did that happen?”

“The other day. There’s no point. It was the place I shared with Kalf. Nothing good ever happened there, and it’s time to move on.” Ragnar kisses her forehead, slightly disappointed that she’s talking about the one in New York, and not the one they’re in now.

“Something good happened there once,” he says huskily. It earns him a laugh. “One good thing versus years of bad. You weren’t good enough to make up for everything else.”

 “Let old things die to allow room for new ones.” He lays a hand on her belly and keeps it there a moment. She looks down at it, and at him. It’s a meaningful gesture.

“I’ve been working on something for you,” he tells her, shifting a bit to reach into his pocket and pull out a piece of paper. It’s taken him some time to compile it, but he’s pretty sure it’s complete, to the best of his ability and his knowledge.

Lagertha opens it and starts reading.

Names.

She counts them silently.

10…11…12…13…

A second column.

34….35…36…37…

And a third.

52…53…54.

And a fourth.

71...72…73…74…75…76.

A fifth column rounds it out. At least he didn’t make it to 100.

He’s nervous about this.

It had taken some time to compile.  During the process, Ragnar debated whether one-night stands counted, writing them down and crossing them out only to add them back in later on.  At one point, when the number began climbing higher, he’d tried to cheat and go with the established ‘relationships-only’ rule, just to realize only about 12 names really followed itand that he would most definitely be lying. There had been manipulation: moving the bar to a three-month rule, then lowering it to two when he lost half of those names. Very few of his ‘relationships’ ever lasted beyond a few weeks.

 While writing, he struggled to match faces to names, and names to faces, and at one point, he resorted to just hash marks. But then he counted the hashes. And when he realized that wouldn’t cut it, he broke down and called Bjorn, Rollo and Floki to help fill in gaps. There are still a few hashes. Google filled in Australia because the only one he really remembered was Annie, but reading about himself only added to his personal humiliation and shame. Most of it, he barely remembered doing, but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, and there was enough in Annie’s story that he did recall.

Acutely.

Ragnar is staring at the ground, remembering how he felt when he finally finished his list. He’d took a good, long look at himself in the mirror.  The exercise brought him down low. And it had made him realize a few things.

  * How lucky he was not to have caught anything
  * How lucky he was not to have even more kids
  * How fortunate he was that there was still someone who could love him despite it all and;
  * How deeply ashamed he was, no-- _is_ of what he’d done—to himself, and to those women.



He had just sat in the shower, the water up as hot as it could go trying to wash away the guilt, and the ignominy of it all. But even now, he still can’t shake the notion that in being with Lagertha, somehow he’s tarnished her. He’s forever marked by the stigma, and if she stays, everyone will wonder why—because clearly one of them is stronger, superior, and it ain’t him.

It has taken him a while to give her this list. Now, at her extended silence, he’s becoming worried it was the wrong move.

Lagertha’s eyes skim across the page slowly. Her lips move as she recites each one to herself.

“I never said I was perfect.” Ragnar says softly. “But I never cheated on you. And I never will.”

Soft hands under his chin raise his face to hers and warm lips meet his. Lagertha knows what it must have taken for him to sit down and figure this out. She’s not surprised by it. Frankly, she’d thought it would be higher. There are names she recognizes. Aslaug. Annie. But there’s one that’s not there.

Hers.

“I think you missed one,” she tells him, when they part.

He shakes his head.

“No. It’s correct. Every woman I’ve ever had sex with.”

“You’ve had sex with me,” she tells him, but he shakes his head again.

“I never had sex with you,” he tells her. “I made love to you. And you’re the only person I’ve ever done that with.”

He’s serious, and it makes her realize that for him, there is a very real distinction. A clear, bright line. And there’s one for her too. Because she’s had sex with three people, but she’s only ever made love to one.

Him.

“Can you come home?” Ragnar asks. “I miss you, and I think we’d do a lot better if we were back under the same roof.”

She fingers his beard thoughtfully. His head is still shaved. And he’s gotten bigger too. Broader. The time he would have been using to make love to her has been spent at the gym.  If anything, it’s only made him look…Sexier, if that were even possible. A little more dangerous. A little badder.

Ragnar’s eyes are closed, a little smile on his face as he enjoys the sensation of her fingers in his beard and on his chin. He sticks his neck out for her to scratch there too.  It disarming. It tickles, and it puts him in a good place. The touch is soothing.

“I was actually thinking about that,” she says softly.

He opens his eyes. “Have you made any decisions?”

“Yes,” she raises her face to his.

“What have you decided?”

“I’ve decided to give up this one, too.”

She gets squeezed in a tight hug.

“Thank you. I promise you won’t regret it.”

 A light punch to the arm and a bright smile. “I hope not,” she says, leaning in for a kiss.

They’re four months into trying again. It’s June.

.

.

 “Hey mom.”

The day is cool, a light breeze making the trees in the backyard flutter. The rest of the house is on set, leaving her alone for the first time in a while. Something about the silence has made her reflective. Lagertha doesn’t know what has made her call Caroline, only that for the first time in months she really needs to hear her. They haven’t had an extended conversation since last August, when Caroline called to tell her about Ragnar’s ‘adventures’ at Lizard Island. It wasn’t pleasant.

Caroline’s voice is flat. “So, you moved back in the house?”

Lagertha knows where this is headed, and she instantly regrets the phone call. “Mother…”

Caroline ignores the warning. “I hope you aren’t sleeping with him again.”

“That’s none of your business.”  She and Ragnar haven’t had sex in a year.

“So the answer is yes. Lagertha, did you forget what he did in Australia? I’m so glad he’s not one of my clients or I’d have his balls in a jar on my desk.”

“Calm down, mother. I am _not_ sleeping with Ragnar. But yes, I’ve moved back in. It’s cheaper living with four people than it is with one.”

“Since when do you have to worry about money? You took a third of Kalf’s in the divorce, _plus_ you have your own. So don’t tell me you moved back to save money.”

 At this, Lagertha snaps. “And you know I didn’t want his money then, nor do I want to touch it.” Which is why it’s been sitting in an escrow account for three years now, accumulating interest.

 Caroline scoffs. “Is he even worth it? Really worth it? You’ve worked so hard to get where you are, and to recover from all his bullshit. Do you truly want to go through all that again? You know if you’re with him, all his shit attaches to you.”

That’s the real question. _Is_ Ragnar worth it?

“I’m still trying to decide that,” Lagertha goes for the honest approach. “I met his parents. We went to his family’s ranch last year.”  She can’t bring herself to say it. The loss still stings.

“Well I’m sure they were nice people. But remember, they are his parents. They’ll defend their child as I would defend mine,” Caroline’s voice cuts through the phone. She switches the subject.  “You know, Kalf still calls asking about you.”

“Stop it.” Lagertha doesn’t bother calling her ‘mother’ this time.

“Just saying. You two had something good. I still don’t understand why you threw it away. The man is still in love with you. And he’s got the means to take care of you.  I strongly doubt Ragnar is anywhere in the ballpark, what with child support and all.”

“This is _not_ about money.”

 “All I’m saying is, you have to do better than you’re doing now. What’s Ragnar doing for you? I get good sex. But hell, almost any man is trainable.”

“Mother!”

“Don’t ‘mother’ me. I’m not stupid—you ended up pregnant in what? Two, three months after screwing him the first time? And he ran a fucking _train_ in his hotel room at Lizard Island. Are you _sure_ he doesn’t have more kids? Some surprises left behind he doesn’t know about? Do you even _know_ what he pays in child support? If you get married, guess what? You pay it too—which means you’ll pay for his dirt. Did that _ever_ occur to you? I didn’t want to bring it up before—I figured you’ve been through enough. But do you really want to take care of his wife and his son as well?  If his she gets alimony, guess what? Add that to your monthly bill as well. Both of your incomes will be counted. Remember your priorities Lagertha—we may fall in love. But love doesn’t last. You need to be practical. Trust me. I know. You may _look_ 20—but you’re nearing 30 and I can tell you right now you are wasting your time and your reputation on Ragnar Lothbrok. This is still a man’s world.”

Lagertha swallows. Caroline is speaking from personal experience.  It’s how she ended up a single mother.

“First, we aren’t getting married. Second, before you write him off completely, can you at least meet him? You didn’t when you were here the last time.”

“Fine. But I can tell you already I don’t like him.”

Lagertha just stares at the phone after Caroline hangs up.

.

.

She’s in her bedroom with Ragnar who is helping to unpack the last few boxes. He reaches for one and pulls out her jewely chest. It opens and he sees the necklace he gave her and pulls it out, fingering it gently.

Her birthday present two years ago, a gift to her for carrying his son. She had worn it through their estrangement, worn it even after the miscarriage. Every time he saw it around her neck it gave him hope that there was still a chance-- that it wasn’t over.

The day it disappeared from her neck was the day he knew she had left him.

Ragnar walks over to her. Lagertha’s busy rooting through a box, and doesn’t see him come up behind her until his arms come around her head and he puts the necklace back on. She fingers it, remembering when he gave it to her, and the promise he’d made.

_“I will always be there for you. I want you to know that.”_

It’s what he said, and it’s what he’s done. Through hell and high water, Ragnar has always been there.

She turns to kiss him gently, and he deepens it.

.

.

Over breakfast is when she tells him her mom is coming.

“Your mom?”

“Yes. I’m picking her up from the airport today.”

“So I need to be on my best behavior?” Ragnar is trying to make Lagertha smile, but she isn’t. “I don’t think it will matter, honestly.”

“I can get the guest room ready for you.”

“Already done.”

“Can I at least take you guys out to dinner?”

She looks at him, and he feels like she’s inspecting, searching for some flaw. Some reason to ditch him all of a sudden. Lagertha finally nods.  That will be fine. Thanks.”

It’s a Friday, a rare one without filming. Siggy and Athelstan are off somewhere for a three-day weekend. He’s in the living room when Lagertha comes back in and he freezes for a moment when an identical twin follows behind her. Didn’t she say she was an only child? Ragnar is confused.

Hadn’t she said she was going to get her mother?

“Ragnar,” Lagertha is talking to him and he looks between the women, puzzled. “This is my mom, Caroline. Mom, this is Ragnar.”

Good God. They look almost exactly alike. Same height, same figure, same hair, same eyes, same noses, lips…everything. How is this even possible? He goes to pick up Caroline’s bags, trying to recover from the shock.

“Hi Caroline, nice to meet you.” He shakes her hand and smiles. But she doesn’t smile back. Just nods, looking at him—making him feel like a bug under a microscope. He sees exactly where Lagertha gets it all from. Caroline doesn’t look like she should have a 29-year-old daughter. She doesn’t even look that herself.

“I’d say the same, but I’ll judge that later.”

The mystique shatters. And Ragnar knows immediately Caroline is definitely not Lagertha.  He looks to her for help, but she’s standing back completely impassive. He’s got to do this on his own.

“Okay, I’ll just take these to your room.” He grabs the bags and goes down the hall.

“Really, mom?” Lagertha’s exasperated.

“Really, Lagertha? The man looks like a homeless person. What the heck is he wearing? First—those jeans. Holes coupled with a terrible fit. And that t-shirt looks ancient—bleach stains? And he could have at least shaved…that beard...”

“Mom, Valdemar has a beard.”

“I thought that was fake!! Oh No… no, no, no, no, nooo….”

“Mom, please. Give him a chance, okay? He wants to take us out to dinner tonight.”

Caroline wrinkles her nose. It’s a habit her daughter has picked up as well.

“Fine. But just so you know…he’s not off to a good start.”

Lagertha sighs. “Come on. Grab your swimsuit. Let’s go to the pool.”

 An hour later finds mother and daughter side by side, sipping margaritas.

Ragnar made them. And he’s in shorts, swimming as they talk on the chairs. Caroline is observing him in the water, thoughtfully.

“Okay. I’ll give you one. He’s got a nice body.”

“Seriously? You’re really going to do this?”

Caroline shrugs, not giving two shits.  “At least it’s just a physical attraction. Nice to look at…hmm…a big cock too…is he…uncut?” She turns her head to the side continuing her cold, calculated appraisal as Ragnar climbs out the water. “Huh…don’t see one of those every day. Nice ass. You could keep him as a sperm donor if you’re still interested in kids. Doesn’t seem to be much outside of that, though.”

It’s making Lagertha regret her decision to bring Caroline to the house. She switches subjects.

“So, what have you been up to?”

“The business is doing fine. We’re expanding into a new market, looking toward India. Bollywood is becoming bigger than Hollywood. We’ve already started lining up clients over there.” Caroline is an entertainment attorney. Her firm is one of the largest in the area. In fact, Lagertha is still represented by her mom’s firm.

“So, I talked to Kalf right before I came down.”

“Don’t start.”

“No. You need to hear him out. Lagertha—really, the man’s got everything. He’s _waiting_ for you. He told me. He’s still really upset about the divorce.”

“The divorce HE caused! Mother, you have no idea!”

“Then fill me in. Because you never have, and all I know is that one day you up and left a man who was completely in love with you for no damned reason. A man I FOUND for you, by the way. Don’t forget that. We see what happens when _you_ choose them.”

Lagertha crosses her legs staring out at the pool. Ragnar has disappeared again, probably sitting at the bottom of the deep end. She’s got no idea how much he’s overheard, but she knows it’s probably a lot. Caroline’s got a big mouth and her voice carries. Ragnar will emerge eventually.

“We had different expectations about what our marriage should be like.” She says finally.

Ragnar pops up, and starts doing laps again.

“Okay? That’s not unusual. Most people do. But was it so different you couldn’t make it work?”

“Mom…Kalf…” she sighs. She’s never told her mother about this. The only person she has told is Ragnar.

“Kalf didn’t love me. He liked the _idea_ of me. He had...expectations. Set expectations for what I should be like…in bed, in public, at home. And he wouldn’t let me go out of them. He tried to control me. I was just a trophy wife to him.”

“Did he abuse you?” Caroline is now concerned. It’s the first she’s hearing of it, and she doesn’t like it.

“He told me what I wanted made me sound like a whore. And that he didn’t do whores.”

“Why didn’t you SAY something to me?!”

“Because _you_ were more in love with Kalf than _I_ was! _When_ could I have told you? All you did was fuss and bitch about me leaving him. He was down here a few months ago, a drop-in ‘visit’,” Lagertha makes air quotes. “He came to my dressing room, insulted me when I refused to come back to him, and then he slapped me.”

Caroline is aghast. Her face completely white. Lagertha sees the shock and puts her hand on her mom’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I got his ass.”

“And Ragnar. Does he know?”

Lagertha nods. “Yes. He was there when Kalf came to my place in New York. And he was there for the fight too.”

“And what did he do?”

“He wants to murder Kalf. I made him stop both times, but honestly, if he comes back, Ragnar probably will. And I know I won’t be able to stop him a third time, so if you love me, you’ll tell Kalf to back the fuck off.”

Caroline studies her daughter a long moment, before asking another question.

 “You never really said anything about what happened after I left,” she says. “How’d you end up in Iowa?”

And so, Lagertha tells her. About going to the farm. About how Ragnar and his mother had pretty much nursed her. About Sigurd’s little memorial, and about how Ragnar bought the crib, then took down the partially completed nursery when she couldn’t stand to look at it. And how, after Kalf showed up to set, how Ragnar had defended her there, too.

She’s still talking as Caroline sips her drink, looking out over at the pool at Ragnar cutting through the water.

.

.

Dinner is…awkward. More than that. It’s a damn interrogation. Caroline’s questions are direct. At least he’s dressed better than he was earlier in the day. He got the impression when Caroline first looked at him that he was _less_ than shit on her expensive ass, red-soled Christian Leboutin heels. Still, this woman did give birth to the best thing in his life. And so, for Lagertha, he tries.

“Where are you from?”

“Iowa.”

 Caroline huffs and wrinkles her nose as if she’s smelled something foul.

“Farm Boy?”

“Yes. And I want to go back to it.”

“Why?”

“It’s what I love. Being out in the country. Caring for something other than myself. Watching things grow. I like that.  It’s peaceful. No noise. No bullshit. Nature’s honest. Tangible. It’s absolute. That’s why I love it.”

 “What about your parents? Family?”

“My mom’s name is Nancy. My father is John. They’ve been married 35 years. I’m their only child together. I’ve got two brothers—my dad was married twice before—and I have three nephews. My parents are good people. They own our farm.”

“So what about your wife? Your son? What of them? You’re here, they’re…where?”

“I don’t really know.” It’s almost embarrassing to answer.

“ _How_ do you not know where your own wife and child are? Do you care?”

“Mom…” Lagertha puts a hand on Caroline’s arm.

“No. It’s okay, Lags. Caroline—I haven’t seen my son since he was born. Aslaug checked out of the hospital when I left to pick up some things. She didn’t go home—I have no idea where the hell she went. She left me. I didn’t leave her.”

It’s the story of his life.

“Do you have any other kids? Do you do drugs? Are you an alcoholic? Are you _clean_?”

“No and rarely, not an alcoholic. And… _excuse me_?” He’s more than indignant at the last question.

“I heard about you, Ragnar Lothbrok. I’ve been in this industry a long time, and I also know first-hand what the hell you did in Australia. I’ll be damned if my daughter catches something from you. So again—Are. You. Clean?” Caroline gives absolutely no fucks.  She is frank and unfiltered and…he doesn’t want to call her what he’s thinking. But the label most certainly applies here.

“Yes.”

“How frequently do you check?”

Someone put him out of his misery.

 “Every six months.”

“Have you checked since you got back?”

Someone…please help….

“Yes.”

“ _When_ was the last time you checked?”

May the gods take him now…

“Mom is this necessary?” Lagertha tries to break into the questioning looking at Caroline in pure shock. Caroline is on a tear.

“I would ask the same question to you—if you’re fucking around with _that_.” A platinum colored finger nail with a diamond snake ring wrapped around it points at Ragnar.

“So again, Ragnar… _when_ was the last time you checked?”

He’s so pissed he’s struggling to keep his mouth closed. Ragnar and Caroline are locked in a stare down.

“Five months ago.” He manages to say through gritted teeth. He went a few days after Kwinthrith because he just had a feeling…

“Whose idea was it to get pregnant?”

This time both Ragnar and Lagertha stare at her. “That’s out-of-line, Caroline.” It’s Lagertha who says it, and it comes out terse.

“ _Not_ out-of-line. I want to know. _Who_ did it?”

Ragnar braves it.

“We started as friends…and it became more than that. It was my idea.”

“No it wasn’t.” He looks at Lagertha and shakes his head.

“Yes Lags, it was. I was…” Fuck Caroline for forcing this admission.

“I wanted to keep you. I knew once the first time happened—that I’d fucked up in not telling you everything. I knew you’d be mad when you found out, and I knew…that the only way for me to keep you in my life was if you were pregnant. I’d be there in some capacity…Aslaug taught me that much…”

Two nearly identical faces, with varying expressions stare at him.

Lagertha blinks. Not quite understanding. “Are you saying you tried to _trap_ me?”

“Yeah. I did.”

For not the first time, he feels ashamed of himself. Caroline sits back in her chair, reaching for a shot of vodka that’s appeared in front of her. She looks at her daughter, and then at Ragnar and shakes her head, downing it fast.

Funny, really, how history repeats. Ragnar reminds her of Lagertha’s father.

Harbard had been much like Ragnar—a wanderer, a roving soul. And she’d been young and naïve. It had been a hot, hard, fast affair and she’d fallen completely in love with Harbard. When she closes her eyes, Caroline still remembers how he felt against her, how he’d made her heart race, how she’d says yes to everything he asked of her, so in love that when he asked if she wanted a baby she said yes, and he’d trapped her, too.

“We’ll be tied together forever,” Harbard said the night they made Lagertha. And she believed him, fully. He had stayed until Lagertha was three. And then he left. To this day she doesn’t know whether he’s dead or alive. She’s got no idea where he is. Harbard has likely had many children. She knows she wasn’t the only one. It’s the kind of heartbreak a woman doesn’t get over. The kind of injury that’s deep, tattooed in her bones.

Yes, there have been other lovers. But she’s never committed to any of them. Not for any significant amount of time, and none have been like Harbard. When Caroline met Kalf, he had been so different—and she’d introduced him to her daughter anticipating the type of man Lagertha would be drawn to, and trying to distract her from it. She’d raised Lagertha to be tough, to keep her legs closed and her heart guarded, and it _seemed_ to have worked. Until Ragnar Lothbrok showed up. Ragnar is Harbard all over again. It’s why Caroline smelled bullshit a mile away. Why she knew and knows with everything in her that Ragnar was and is wrong for her daughter.  

It’s true what they say though.

 Women are drawn to men like their fathers.

The ride home is quiet. Caroline goes to her room. Lagertha to hers. And Ragnar to his.

But he can’t sleep. Two nearly identical faces with the same eyes bore into him when he closes his eyes. He’s got no idea what Caroline thinks of him now, but he knows it’s not very good. First lying got him in touble. Now honesty keeps making him dig his grave deeper and deeper. He gets up, going to the dresser and pulling out the ring. The ring he’d bought nearly two years ago now. The one he has carried every day. He studies it, and puts it back.

.

.

They’re shopping. Something they haven’t done together in a while. The mall is high-end. Lagertha’s been in Toronto now three years, and she’s surprised she’s just now made it in here. The last time, she and Siggy had only gone into the furniture store, and nowhere else. Remembering WHY they’d been there makes her flush, and Caroline notices.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

 “Right. So…Ragnar admits he tried to trap you. And you say…what?” They’re at the Cartier store, and Caroline is trying on sunglasses.

“I don’t say anything.”

“At least tell me you’re on some kind of BC.”

“You already know the answer to that.” She’s allergic to most types, it’s the extra estrogen that’s problematic. The only thing she can use safely are condoms.

“Then I hope you’re using them this time around.”

“We’re not having sex. We haven’t had sex in a year.”

“Yeah. Whatever. I heard you the first time. As your mother, I also know when you’re lying. You aren’t having sex with him now, but you want to. And if he tried to trap you once, he’ll do it again.”

“Mom…I _wanted_ him too.”

“What do you mean?”

They leave the store once they realize the saleswoman is listening in.

“What I’m saying is, _we_ wanted to have a baby— _we_ were trying, and… _we_ did.”

Caroline looks at her daughter and sees her own reflection staring back at her. “You _do_ love him,” she says sadly. “Oh my God…” She finds the nearest chair and sits, wanting to just cry.

“Lagertha…I’m not trying to be an asshole. I’m just trying to protect you.”

“I know mom. But you’ve been trying to protect me for 30 years. This is my life to govern, not yours. And I know why you feel the way you do. But at least _you_ got to love someone you wanted. And I think I turned out decently. I get to do the same thing. And if it all goes to shit, I’ll live and I’ll learn.”

Lagertha hugs her mom, and for the moment, the two sit side-by-side. After a while, the sentimentality grows too much for Caroline and she gets up. Lagertha rises too and they start walking again.

“So you never told me what happened to Tim. I thought you two were getting serious.”

“Um…I tried it. It…wasn’t very good.” She decides not to say _why_ it wasn’t good.

Caroline gasps. “What? I was sure…”

“It wasn’t his fault …” Lagertha trails off trying to figure out how to explain…Caroline arches an eyebrow at her. 

“He wasn’t …what I had gotten…accustomed too.” she finishes. It’s the most tactful she can be about it.

Her mother considers the answer a moment, then casts another look at her daughter. She decides to drop it.

.

.

“I’m telling you Roth, the woman hates me.”

He’s out on a run, talking to his brother at the same time.

“Why is she so terrible? You say she looks exactly like Lagertha—I can’t imagine Lagertha being so bitchy,’ he finishes.

“Understatement. I felt as if she were looking for a reason to hate me. I really wish I were a better liar.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She asked whose idea it was to get pregnant. I told her it was mine.”

“Ok. You definitely need to be a better liar.”

“She also asked me if I was clean.”

At that Roth laughs.

“Well, I think that one’s fair little brother.”

Ragnar stops to breathe at a corner.

“Not funny. Please tell me mom and dad didn’t see that.”

“Ragnar…at this stage of the game, everyone has seen it. What was her name? Angie? Amy? Annie?”

“Just. Don’t.” Ragnar grits his teeth. Roth keeps talking.

“Hey, at least Dad got a kick out of it.”

“Of course he did.”

He gets in 10 miles and when he gets back to the house, he sees Lagertha and Caroline are back too. His shirt is off and he’s using it as a towel, draped around his neck.

“Hi Caroline, Hi Lagertha.” He greets them and heads into his room for a shower.

“Hmm...He’s glistening,” Caroline opines as he walks by. She sniffs…

“Does he always smell like Irish Spring Soap?”

Lagertha laughs. “I thought I was the only one! And yes. He does.”

Mother and daughter are busy in the kitchen when Ragnar walks back out into the living room barefoot but fully clothed in a pair of light jeans and a white, thermal top. He combed his beard, too.

Lagertha comes over and gives him a light kiss on the cheek and he starts to smell something really good coming out of the oven.

“What are you two cooking?”

“Pesto chicken with mushrooms and angel hair pasta and peas,” Caroline says. “Can you go to the store and grab a bottle of white wine? All you guys have here are reds.”

He gets up.

“Do you have a preference?”

“As long as it’s not cheap.” She says. Ragnar goes to put on flip flops and head out.

“Did you have to throw that last barb in there? I thought you were off it.”

“Sorry baby. That’s still something you two really need to talk about. You can’t have a real relationship until you’ve talked about everything. Even the things you don’t want to talk about. Like money. Just remember that. You’ll have to approach the issue someday. By the way, he has nice feet.”

“What do his feet have to do with anything?”

“I’m just saying.”

Lagertha rolls her eyes. Caroline pretends not to notice.

.

.

It’s late when Ragnar goes and knocks on Caroline’s door. The dinner had gone well, and the two bottles of wine had disappeared. It’s good he had sense enough to buy a third, knowing Lagertha’s love of it. Yet another thing she has in common with her mother.

He waits but there’s no answer from the other side. Just as he’s weighing whether to knock again or leave the door opens and Caroline peeks out starting at him.

 “Can I talk to you? Please?”

God it’s like looking at Lagertha. He has to remember for a moment who he’s talking to.

“Come in.”

He enters, and Caroline settles down on the bed, a bottle of vodka and a shot glass next to her. It’s clearly her preferred drink of choice.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Speak. It’s 2:00 in the morning. What do you want?”

He doesn’t say anything, just opens his hand and walks over to her, giving her the ring.

She takes it and puts on glasses to take a closer look.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“I don’t really know. I know you don’t like me. I know you don’t trust me. I know you think I’m beneath your daughter. And I also know that what I said last night probably didn’t make it any better.”

Caroline’s light eyes meet his, searching…

“You remind me of Lagertha’s father.”

“She’s never talked to me about her father.”

“She never knew him. He left us when she was three.”

“Caroline, please believe me. I am trying to get my son back. I’ve been trying since he was born.”

“I know. I can read.”

“Then what do I have to do to prove to you I want your daughter? That I love her? I swear I won’t leave her. I’ve wanted to marry her almost from the day we met. I’ve carried this ring every single day for nearly two years now.”

“Have you asked her?”

He nods. “Twice.”

“And what did she say?”

“Nothing.”

A slow smile spreads across Caroline’s face as she hands the ring back to him.

“Keep trying.”

He leaves and Caroline takes another shot of Vodka. Her phone beeps and she looks at it and picks it up.

“Kalf, do not contact me anymore. And you might as well give up on Lagertha. She’s not coming back. I gave birth to her and I would kill her if she ever tried.”

The next morning Caroline hugs Ragnar at the door. Lagertha looks surprised.

“Remember what I told you,” her mom says. Ragnar nods and carries Caroline’s bags to the waiting car. He loads them into the trunk.

“Thank you Caroline,” he tells her.  She smiles at him. “Don’t make me kill you. I carry a .40 and I love shooting. It’s stress relief.”

He laughs.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I can’t believe it,” Lagertha says when he walks back into the house. “What did you do to my mother?”

Ragnar kisses her on the cheek. “I told her the truth. We talked last night.”

“About what?”

“About you.”

“I think we need to talk.” He nods and they go to the living room.

“Did you really try to trap me?” She says turning to him.

“Yes.”

“Did you ever think you didn’t need to try?” Ragnar looks at her. “What?”

“Did you ever think maybe I wanted to be trapped?” Lagertha says, moving close until she’s pressed up against him.

He blinks, and feels his body react accordingly. He wraps an arm around her waist and drops his head to her neck nuzzling her gently.

“You know everything,” he says. “And knowing everything…would you let me do it…again?”

She considers it. Lagertha looks at him, biting her lip. She’s debating something. He can tell….

Suddenly, she pushes him down on the couch and comes to her knees in front of him.

“What are doing?”

“Shut up.”

Her hands unzip his pants, and his head goes back when he feels her take him in his mouth…

When he finally recovers enough she’s looking at him with a smirk. He grabs her under her arms and pulls her onto his lap, kissing her, and tasting himself.

She’s trapped him now. And he doesn’t want to be released.

Their clothes disappear.

“Wait.” He stops, confused.

“Do you…have something?”

“Be right back!” Ragnar jumps up and quickly tears up his room searching…yes! He quickly slips on a condom and comes dancing back to the living room wearing nothing but a grin.

Lagertha laughs, beckoning to him with a finger. They fall into each other. He brings her hips closer to his, and her legs open for him like magic. And when he enters her he cries out and she does too. It’s like being wrapped in a warm blanket, a tight hug with a lost over. It’s his happy place. The place he feels most at home.

It’s been so long since the last time they were together. There’s a lot of lost time to make up for.

 They sex the cushions off the couch, and then fall to the floor.

Lagertha’s riding him like Sea Biscuit and they’re both so far gone they don’t hear the door open.

Siggy and Athelstan walk in, followed by Rollo, Bjorn and Floki.

The guys had come down as a surprise, and they’d all ended up meeting at the airport. But as soon as the door opens the sounds hit them first. Followed by the sight.

Athelstan shakes his head and quietly goes down the hall.

Siggy covers her mouth and follows him.

Bjorn, Floki and Rollo just stare open-mouthed until Siggy grabs them and yanks them away.

 They’re all in the back waiting until it’s safe to emerge again.

“Are they done yet?”

Athelstan shakes his head. “Nope. By the looks of it, and the sounds of it…they just got started.”

“Well…how long can they possibly go?”

 “Fuck me…” Lagertha’s voice carries down the hall.

“Uhh…a while. So, who’s got something we can do? I’m not going back out there.”

“I’ve got some cards on me,” Bjorn says. “Blackjack?”

There are enough of them, and Bjorn hands the cards to Floki to deal.

“Oh, Fuck!” Ragnar now.

Bjorn shakes his head and tries to concentrate.

“Maybe we should turn the TV on,” Rollo says. Siggy shakes her head. “If we do, they’ll hear it.”  

“Well if we don’t we have to hear them,” he retorts.

The cards are dealt and they start, trying to concentrate on something other than what’s happening in the living room.

The sound of crashing glass interrupts.

“I swear they better not have broken the table,” Siggy grumbles, laying down a card.

“Ragnar!!”                                                                                                                                              

“Oh good…it’s starting,” Athelstan announces.

“What’s starting?” Floki asks.

“The beginning of the end.”

They’ve been home now about 30 minutes.

The sounds pick up pace…more urgency…

“Oh God, Lags…”

“I thought Ragnar was an atheist,” Bjorn says laying down another card. “Or was it agnostic?”

They shrug.

A few curse words followed by some very explicit longer statements come floating down the hall.

“My virgin ears!” Siggy covers her mouth. It’s too much, even for her.  Athelstan laughs and Bjorn, Rollo and Floki smirk.

“They will never live this down. It’s just ammunition for the next time we play ‘Never have I ever.’” Floki says.

“I didn’t know they were quite like that…” Bjorn is shifting uncomfortably.

“Okay…five more minutes…” Athelstan is looking at his phone.  Siggy’s laughing now. “You’ve got them timed?” Athelstan shrugs. “My room is closet to Ragnar’s, remember?”

 “How do you guys take this?” Rollo asks, putting his headphones on.

“Well…it’s been a while,” Siggy says, “they weren’t this bad before…” but Athelstan interrupts. “Don’t lie for them. Remember the time the neighbor left a note in the mailbox?”

Two shouts…

“Okay here we go…3….”

A loud scream. “Harder!”

“Two…2…”

A groan….”yes, babe!”

“One….”

Two long, drawn out moans….Two “oh fucks” in unison…

“And…they’re done.”

It goes quiet.

“Think they know we’re here?”

“If they don’t they will soon.”

.

.

She’s laying on him, her head on his chest, playing with the darker hair there.  Ragnar’s on his back, hands behind his head as their breathing slowly returns to normal.

“Damn, woman.”

“Hmmm?”

“What did I do to get that?”

Lagertha smiles down at him. “You did the right thing.” They kiss.

“We’re coming in, in 30 seconds. For fucks sake, PLEASE find some clothes!” It’s Athelstan.

They jump up and scramble, Lagertha pulls on Ragnar’s shirt as he hops into his pants.

She runs a nervous hand through her hair as Rollo, Floki, Bjorn, Siggy and Athelstan come down the hall.

Where the hell had they come from?

“Hey…ya’ll are home early,” Lagertha says not-quite casually.

“And ya’ll are…here?” Ragnar says eyeing his friends.

“Yeah. We found each other at the airport. Figured it would be a good surprise.” Rollo is smirking at him, and Bjorn and Floki have shit-eating grins plastered on their faces.

Siggy is surveying the damage…

“The table?! Really?!?!?! You two are so paying for that!!!”

Ragnar and Lagertha look at each other sheepishly.

“Sorry,” they say in unison.

“Ya’ll are so not sorry. Don’t even try to tell that lie,” Athelstan says drily, his arms crossed as he looks at the couch. Not a cushion remains.

“I’m _not_ sitting on that.”

They’re released to get themselves together, and when they come back, Siggy’s spraying down the couch with Lysol and Febreeze.

“I’m still mad about the table,” she says. But there’s no anger there, and there’s laughter behind the words. “And pizza’s on its way.”

Pizza….they’re starving. The guys emerge from the patio carrying beers. Floki tosses one to Ragnar and he pops the top drinking it down fast, not realizing quite how thirty he was.

“Thanks.” Another lands in his hand. “That one is to enjoy.”

Someone has gotten the fire pit going, and eventually they all find their way back outside once the pizzas arrive.

Lagertha’s curled up under Ragnar, Siggy is wrapped around Athelstan, and they’re all just talking. Bjorn’s telling them about the new show he’s working on.

“It’s boss,” he says. “A biker gang turned drug runners. It’s a family business, run by the mom.” Siggy nods in approval. “We need more women characters like that. Not damsels in distress. God I love our show,” she says. “Me too,” Lagertha nods.

“We’re about to wrap Expendables Four,” Rollo says. “I swear if I have to get close to fire again…damn Sylvester Stallone and his obsession with pyro.” They laugh. “Not funny,” he grumbles. “I’m missing half an eyebrow.” Sure enough they look closer, and he his.

“Floki, what are you up too?”

“Lead designer. I got a movie this time. It starts filming in August.

“Where at?” Athelstan asks.

“Out in Australia. The latest Mad Max.”

“No way! I’m going to be in it!” Siggy looks at him. “You got the part?” He grins down at her. “Yeah. I was going to surprise you with the news. We start filming in September. It’s going to take about five months.” She hugs him. “I’m happy for you,” but she sounds sad about it. They look at each other a minute and he squeezes her. A conversation for another time.

“So how’s the season been so far? How far in are you guys?”

“Episode 6,” Lagertha says. “It’s been rough, but I think we’ll be good now.” Ragnar nods. “Yeah. We’ve got a new person with wandering hands.

“Need me to fix it?” Lagertha is playing with his beard and pulls him down for a kiss.

“Um, no. Bad headlines.” She laughs and they snuggle.

This time, it’s Floki who proposes the game. “It’s that time of night you guys! Who’s down?”

Lagertha and Ragnar look at each other with devilment. “Sure, we’re down.”

Everyone else is game too. Floki gets them started.

“Never have I ever…” he thinks on it a moment. “Never have I ever had sex on a set.”

Ragnar and Lagertha drop their fingers. Siggy and Athelstan go down too. 

“Never have I ever had sex on a yacht in front of hundreds of people,” Athelstan says.

Ragnar and Lagertha lose another.

“Never have I ever broken a bed with a metal frame,” Siggy says.

More fingers for Ragnar and Lagertha. Bjorn, Floki and Rollo drop theirs too. “Wait— _meta_ l frame?” Bjorn asks. Siggy nods. “METAL. Solid piece too, split right in the middle.” The three friends put their fingers back up.

“Never have I ever fallen in love with my co-worker,” Rollo says.

Siggy, Athelstan, Ragnar and Lagertha lose fingers.

“Never have I ever gotten beaten up by a girl, Bjorn says.  

Ragnar and Athelstan lose fingers again, and there’s a group round of chuckles. “That right hook, babe,” he leans over and kisses Lagertha’s neck.  

She punches him lightly on the arm. “You deserved it.”

“Never have I ever…” Lagertha looks at Ragnar, considering her options. He’s waiting to see how she’ll tank him this time. He’s down to one finger.

“Never have I ever…” she whispers it in his hear, and smiles when he lowers a finger, grinning at her.

“That’s not fair! You have to say it aloud.” Siggy exclaims.

 Ragnar snickers. “Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

“Uh uh. Rules are rules.”  Ragnar puts the finger back up.

“Okay! I’m changing the question,” Lagertha says. Siggy shakes her head. “Nope. You blew it. Try again.”

Lagertha tries to think of another question. But she can’t.

“Um…never have I ever…” why did she even go there?  “Never…have I ever…”

“You’re stalling and we’re waiting.” Rollo. “Ask it, Lags.”

So she does. Mumbles it really into Ragnar’s shoulder, her hair covering her face.

Crickets. A few stray coughs.

Rollo, Floki, Bjorn, Athelstan, and Ragnar all drop their fingers. He takes the assessment…

“You dirty fucks.”

They all chuckle sheepishly.

“I promise only you, dove.” He whispers in her ear. Lagertha rewards him with a kiss on the cheek. “You’re turn,” she says.

He thinks about it a moment, one hand reaching for his pocket. Satisfied, he decides to just go for it.

“Never have I ever asked a woman three times to marry me.”

There’s a light breeze blowing, and the sun is starting to go down. It’s still warm, but Lagertha shivers. It’s not from cold.

There’s silence as everyone waits.

 She looks up at him, biting her bottom lip. He nods, understanding the question in her eyes.  Yes, he’s serious. Very serious.

He takes her hand and laces their fingers together in his gently, before reaching into his pocket.  Ragnar knows she’s debating. He can see it in the knawing of her lip. But he thinks he knows which side she’s leaning toward. He just needs to help her get there.

“Close your eyes.” She does, feeling butterflies in her stomach. Something cold and hard touches her finger. The butterflies flutter faster.

“Open.”

She looks at her hand. And then, at him.

“Marry me?” There’s sincerity there, and there’s love. Ragnar’s look is urging her to say yes. She thinks on it. The intense joy of year one. The bitterness of year 2. The rediscovery of year 3. The sum of all things. The good, the bad. The ugly. Caroline had asked if it was worth it. If he was worth it. She now knows the answer.

“Yes.”

Siggy is first to interrupt the moment with a loud squeal, followed by cheers and whistles all around.

“It’s about damned time!” Bjorn says letting out a loud whoop. “I can’t believe you still have that thing.”

Floki lets out a high-pitched giggle. “How long’s it been, Ragnar?” He says teasingly.

“Two years.” Rollo answers with a wry smile, arms crossed.

Lagertha looks at Ragnar. “Two years? You’ve had this for two years?”

“Yes,” he tells her, pulling her into a hug.

“When did you buy it?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me,” he steals a kiss from her lips.

“Try me.” It’s breathless. He smiles.

“Year 1. The day after I told you I loved you.”

Her new bed is a lot quieter than the old one. But they aren’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to bring this bird in for a landing. Only now am I realizing how freakin' long this story is. Not to mention the four different endings I'm still trying to sort through.
> 
> This is my latest plea for a Beta/Editor.


	46. Year 3: June Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Likely going to hell for this...but at this stage, I think it's fairly established that Ragnar is a Scorpio with zero chill. And Lagertha is just...Lagertha.

**June**

**Part 1**

_Shreya is torn. Should she leave? Abandon the home she has built for herself and her son? Abandon the husband who has betrayed her? They have never been in a place so dark, so difficult to navigate. Valdemar swears it has been only once. But he is lying. She knows it. He is not the same man she fell in love with, not the same man she made into an earl. He is not even the same man he was when their precious son was born. Should she stay? He is begging her. To stay for their small kingdom. For their son—Valdemar believes the child should not grow up without a father. But he’s also insisting on taking Celine as a second wife. And Shreya does not share. She would rather kill Valdemar than allow such a humiliation. He’s already done that enough. Should she divorce him she could retain her lands and her title, and bury him in disgrace. A woman who divorces a man leaves him with permanent shame. But it would also cost them their power—power that they’ve built over a lifetime of shared struggle._

_At first she had believed it to be her fault, some failing of hers as a woman and as a wife. But Ammala has told her of other things. Whispers of a dark-haired woman who walks the streets at night, levitating. Some have called her a ghost or a witch. The town is afraid._

_Celene._

_Shreya has set down her shield and sword iin favor of the loom today, and she and Ammala are working at it when the doors to the hall open. Celene walks in._

_“Lady Shreya,” she says bowing._

_“Celene.” Ammala stands close._

_“I have come to speak to Earl Valdemar.”_

_“Whatever you must say to the Earl can be spoken to me.”_

_Celene looks at her, and Shreya sees evil in her eyes._

_“I am with child, my lady. The Earl’s new son.”_

_Ammala places a hand on Shreya’s arm as she purses her lips._

_“Very well. I will speak with my husband.”_

_They turn their backs on Celene, and she leaves. Shreya is shaking with anger. The depths of the betrayal stinging deep into her heart._

_“She is lying,” Ammala says._

_“How do you know?” Shreya asks sharply. “You know what Valdemar did as well as I do.”_

_“Yes, but Shreya, I tell you now. Do not do anything rash. Celene is a witch. Of this I am certain. And she will reveal herself. You must be calm. Patient. Wait. The Orange Moon is coming soon. Come, let us train. It will relax you.”_

_._

Ragnar’s been catching hell on set. Kwinthrith Mercia. Every scene he’s had to shoot with her has resulted in some sort of wayward comment or advance. Lagertha has been laughing at his discomfort. This, he knows, is his fault. He shouldn’t have slept with her that one time. Now, he’s screwed.

There’s something far more valuable, and frankly a thousand times better at home.  But Kwinthrith hasn’t gotten the hints. So he pulls her to the side one day, deciding to just be frank about it.

“Look, January was a mistake. No offense, but it’s not going to happen. I have a fiance.”

“And you also have a wife, too. So, why not make it a triple crown and add a mistress, too?” Kwinthrith reaches up to run her hands down his chest. He backs up when they get too low and he removes them from his body.

“No.”

She glares at him. “What is wrong with you, Ragnar Lothbrok? You’re not what my friends told me about.”

“Who are your friends?”

“Do you know Charlene, Karis and Dee?”

“No. Sorry, I don’t.”

 Kwinthrith laughs. “Yes you do. You had a foursome with them in L.A. They remember you. They said you were fun. That I should go for a ride when I met you. Are you saying you’re seriously not interested?”

She’s baiting. He doesn’t bite.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from fucking Lagertha and half the female population in Australia. And I bet you, I’m _way_ more fun than she is.” Kwinthrith’s close again, slowly backing him into a corner. “It’s even better if you want her to watch. I don’t mind.”

Now he’s angry, and he pushes her back forcefully.

He’s been trying not to hurt her feelings, but she keeps insisting, and bringing up Lagertha and Australia has just pissed him off. So he gets mean.

“Look. To be real about it, from what I’ve heard, you might want to do some keegles.”

 Kwinthrifth glares at him, offended. “What if I told her you did it anyway?”

“You can tell her whatever you want. I don’t give a shit.”

.

.

Lagertha’s warming up in preparation for practice. Today is choreography day. She’s stretching her legs and going through a series of Taekwondo positions. Attention. Closed. Walking, Back- L…

She’s completely in her zone. Her breathing deep and even. Parallel, Rear-foot, Sitting….Fighting. The movements between each are slow and fluid. It’s almost like meditation. Like prayer. This is by far her favorite thing to do. She’s early, and she’s alone.

 Attention. Closed. Walking. Back-L. Parallel, Rear-foot. Sitting. Fighting….

The last stance is held as she focuses on her core, pressing her feet to the floor, feeling the energy radiate up into her legs, her thighs, her hips, her back, her stomach, chest, arms, shoulders, neck…head.

Grounded.

Anchored.

The kicks begin.

Front. Side. Roundhouse Back…She keeps the form.

Reverse, hook, axe, spin jump. She lands gently, yet forcefully.

Front. Side. Roundhouse. Back. Reverse. Hook. Axe. Spin. Jump. Again. Repeat. Her hips are loose, her core is strong.

Hands now.

Forefist. Hammer. Backfist, Knife, Palm…

Elbow. Eagle. Tiger. Pincer, Scissor… Again. Repeat.

It’s been a long time since she’s worked out like this. One of the few downsides of trading the boxing ring for the bedroom. Maybe they should start sparring again…

Forefist. Hammer. Backfist. Knife. Palm. Elbow. Eagle. Tiger. Pincer. Scissor.

Full cycle now. Kicks. Punches.

She gets faster.

Lagertha’s completely in the zone and doesn’t hear the door open again. Kwinthrith walks in and stops, appraising.

It’s only the third time she’s met Lagertha—the first was during the reading session. The second, on-set with Ragnar, and now. The other woman is impressive. She’s curvy, her body all lean muscle, toned, and tight. It’s a body that’s been made through years of physical conditioning, lithe, and nimble. Kwinthrith’s is taller, more slender, all long limbs. Model light. They couldn’t be more different. But they do have something in common. Ragnar Lothbrok.

She watches as Lagertha goes through a series of rapid-fire hits and kicks, and begins to repeat them over and over again. And for a moment. Kwinthrith hesitates—a bit worried about the possible damage that Lagertha’s hands and legs could do. But she ignores it.

She knows exactly what she wants, and she’s not above stepping on feelings to get it. It’s nothing personal.

“You’re good,” Kwinthrith says, taking up a space next to Lagertha and beginning to stretch.

“Thank you,” she says politely, beginning some yoga poses to slow her heart beat.

“How long have you been training?”

“I started when I was five.”

“Nice. So, what’s the deal with you and Ragnar?”

Lagertha looks at Kwinthrith out of the side of her eye.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you two really close?”

She nods.

“Like, friends?”

Lagertha knows where this is going.  Ragnar’s already told her enough things. “Yes. Close friends.”

“Oh…” Kwinthrith averts her eyes. Lagertha keeps going. Not giving her an inch.

“Well…I think you should know…we slept together. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.”

Inhale….exhale…downward dog…She keep going with her yoga poses, refusing to be lured in. She knows what Kwinthrith is trying to do. And she’s not taking the bait.

“You’re…not mad?” Kwinthrith is confused, not understanding the lack of response. The light in the room glints off something on Lagertha’s hand. Kwinthrith’s eyes drift to the spot. A ring. A large, pear-shaped yellow diamond with two smaller ones on the side.

Lagertha is practicing her breathing. “Cut or uncut?”

Kwinthrith blinks, slightly perplexed before understanding the question.

“Cut, of course, who isn’t these days?” Lagertha laughs inwardly. At least Ragnar was telling the truth. The door opens and the choreographer enters.

“Kwinthrith, Lagertha, great. Glad you two are here. This is going to be awesome!” He’s excited with the routine he’s mapped out for them. “Grab two of the poles over there and let’s get started.

Lagertha grabs one, feeling its weight in her hands, taking in the length, the thickness…workable. She begins to twirl it casually, whistling to herself as she walks back over. Kwinthrith grabs one as well.

 “Okay. Kwinthrith. You stand here. Lagertha, here. Now, watch.” He steps forward and thrusts out. Step back cut to the side, step forward again, cut to the left, step to the side, cut down. Lagertha follows his motions with ease.

“Great! Kwinthrith you’re the opposite.” He has to go through the steps with her several times before she gets it.

“Okay. Now, let’s take it together,” he hands them both two wooden poles. “And… Go!”

Lagertha steps forward and thrusts out. She steps back and cuts to the side. She steps forward again and cuts left, but when she steps to the side and cuts down, she makes sure it’s right across Kwinthrith’s face.

“Oh my God my nose!!!”

Kwinthrith is clutching her face, blood between her fingers.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry, are you all right?” Lagertha’s face is concerned. She puts an arm around Kwinthrith’s shoulders but the other woman jumps back.

“Don’t touch me you bitch! You did that on purpose!” The choreographer is scrambling for towels. He hands them to Kwinthrith.

“It was an accident. I should have specified distance.”

Lagertha backs up, suppressing her smile.

Ragnar, Athelstan and Siggy come walking in later. It’s Siggy who spots the drops of blood on the floor.

“Where’s Kwinthrith? Isn’t she supposed to be here, too?”

“Oh yes. She was here earlier. She busted her nose. Had to go down to the E.R.” Lagertha is looking innocent. But none of them buy it. The tiny curl on the side of her lips gives her away.  

Ragnar looks at her, incredulously. She walks over and gives him a kiss on the cheek and he pulls her close.

“Did she really bust her nose, Lags…or did you?” He asks later that night as they camp out in his room. Lagertha shifts a bit, rubbing a long, slender leg up his and draping an arm across his chest. She bats her eyes at him.

“How could you ever think I would do such a thing?”

“It’s not working, Dove.”

She laughs. “I couldn’t help it.”

He does too. “I just bet you couldn’t.”

Lagertha’s got a mean streak, and it’s sexy when it flares up. He licks his lips.

Ragnar rolls over on top of her and slides down her body, spreading her legs. She gasps and tries to close them but he’s got her in a grip and he’s not letting go. This is something he’s been meaning to do for a while.

“N—no…” Lagertha is trying to back away, but he shakes his head and lowers his face between her legs.

“Ragnar…stop!” Her arms are on his shoulders trying to push him away, but he won’t budge.

“It’s okay, Dove.”

She trembles as his tongue makes the first pass. And she groans out loud as he goes back again.

“Ragnar…” it’s a whisper as she tries and fails to fight what he’s doing to her body. No one has EVER done this before. Well, he has but he hasn’t, and the last time he tried she made him stop. Now, she can’t, and she also can’t figure out whether she’s mortified or turned on. It’s confusing. What he’s doing has her shocked. She buries her face in a pillow to hide, her voice is muffled.

“I’m…”

She can’t see him grinning against her thighs as he kisses both.

“I know. Now, spread for me.”


	47. Year 3: June Part 2

**June Part 2**

Today’s filming schedule doesn’t include her, and it’s one of those rare days she can spend some quality home alone time. Lagertha’s relaxing in the bathtub when the doorbell rings. She climbs out and puts on a robe, and goes out to the living room. But when she cracks the door, she immediately wishes she’d checked first.

“Hey Pussy Willow.” Kalf. She tries to close the door, but he’s blocking it with his foot.

“How do you know where I live?” She backs up a bit as he pushes his way inside. Kalf is still Kalf. All tall, all dark, hair pulled back in a ponytail wearing a light gray suit. Anyone else would likely look at him and swoon. All Lagertha sees is the darkness he wears so fittingly.

“Caroline told me right before she came down last month. So, I see you’re back to old habits, huh?”

Dammit, Caroline.

“Get out of my house.”

“No. Let’s chat.”

“We have nothing to talk about. You need to leave.”

“Nope. _Not_ until we have a conversation.” The front door closes behind him and he blocks it with his body, arms crossed, appraising Lagertha.

She’s still all fire and ice. The robe is short and he can tell she’s naked beneath it—those long legs are still as curvy and toned as he remembered but he thinks now, she’s not as skittish as she once was, and he can also tell her body has changed. It’s in her hips, and when she turns her back to him, definitely her ass. Rounder…the way the fabric of the robe glances across it—like a smile. He does too.  

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

Kalf walks up behind her, draping his harms around her waist, inhaling her scent. Lavender. Flowers. “I’m sad, Willow. Never pegged you for the type to let some ‘no name’ turn you into a whore. Or maybe he just brought it out of you.” Kalf leans in close. “Seems to me, you should have kept what you had. At least you know I would have behaved.” He whispers the last part and she shudders, brushing him off and stepping out of his embrace.  

“Can you please, just leave?”

Gods she hates this man. Kalf is looking at her in a way that’s making her skin crawl. But he doesn’t go anywhere. And this time, he grabs her again. “Better yet…let’s see what Ragnar has done…maybe you’ve learned some new tricks.” He’s trying to remove her robe. But she struggles against him, delivering two kicks to his chest in rapid succession. The blows knock Kalf down. But this time, he’s not going anywhere. And they get into a fight. A physical one, this time.

The first punch lands across her chin, making her head spin. But she comes out of it quickly and manages to get three  hits of her own--making contact with his chest, his head and his side. Kalf stumbles back before launching himself at her, grabbing her arms and uses his foot to knock her down, forcing them both to the floor . He lands on top and tries to pin her down. But Lagertha won't give. She tries to bring a knee up but he’s using his to separate her legs.

“Stop fighting me. Come on, all I want to do is talk to you.”

 “Get off me!” She’s still struggling but he’s taken both her wrists in one of his hands pinning her to the ground, burying his face in her neck, inhaling.

“You still smell so sweet.”

She gets a leg free and brings it up between his, fast and hard, making direct contact with his balls. Kalf howls and raises a hand as if to back slap her when the front door opens and there’s a scream.

 “What the fuck?!”

He’s is yanked off Lagertha and she feels Siggy pulling her away, dragging her straight to the patio. She’s shaking as they begin to hear things start breaking inside.

“Lagertha! Are you okay?” Siggy’s checking her over, bringing her robe back over her shoulders and tying it up to cover her legs. Lagertha is shaking. Her jaw hurts, and she closes her eyes trying and failing to block out the sounds from inside. She already knows. Ragnar already told her. And she will not get between him and Kalf.  

“Siggy call the police.” Athelstan shouts. “Now!”

Siggy goes back inside to see Ragnar and Kalf going at it on the floor. The two are trading blows and the white carpet is starting to turn red. Athelstan’s trying to pull Ragnar back, but it’s not working and Siggy quickly realizes Ragnar is hellbent killing that man and Athelstan could get caught in the crossfire. She grabs her phone and starts dialing.

He’s been wanting to do this a really long time. He’d held back in New York, focused only on reassuring Lagertha and keeping her safe.

And only for her did he stop himself from murdering Kalf on set earlier this year.

Now though, she’s not there to stop him. And he has no intention of quitting this beat down anytime soon.

Kalf manages to get off a few hits, but they don’t phase him.  Each fist to Kalf’s face is for a separate offense. For abusing Lagertha, for tormenting her. For touching her in the first place, for trying to destroy her happiness. It feels so good to exact this small slice of revenge. This is now his sole focus. His primary responsibility at the moment. And he’s taking the greatest pleasure in bashing Kalf’s face into the ground.

Repeatedly.

He doesn’t hear the sirens outside. Nor does he see the cops come through the door. It takes three of them plus Athelstan to separate the two men. And by the time Ragnar does come back to himself it’s too late as both he and Kalf are handcuffed and pushed into the back of two squad cars. “I suggest you put his ass in a different cell,” Ragnar tells the cop. “Because I promise you he’s a dead man if he’s next to me.”

He leans his head back against the seat in the squad car and closes his eyes having done this enough times to already know what the process is.

.

.

A hush has fallen over the house as the cars leave, and Siggy and Athelstan are still shocked. So is Lagertha. Athelstan’s eyes fall on her.

“Get her dressed, Siggy. Take her to the hospital. I’ll take care of Ragnar.”

She nods and takes Lagertha to her room.

“I’m fine, Siggy.”

 “No you’re not. Who was that?”

“Kalf,” Lagertha tells her, her voice shaky.

“Your ex? Why’s he here?”

“I don’t know…he said my mother told him where I was…”

“Okay. First—you’re going to the hospital. Because we have to get your future husband out of jail and we need to make sure your former one stays there.”

Lagertha gets dressed and leaves with Siggy. Athelstan starts making calls.

The first one he places is to Torstein. The next is to Ecbert. “We got a problem and it’s going to be bad.”

 

**“Lothbrok Arrested After Fight at Northeast Toronto Home”**

_Ragnar Lothbrok, star of the hit period drama “The Shield-maiden’s Tale” is facing a half dozen felony charges stemming from a fight at the Toronto home he shares with cast mates Athelstan Priestly, Siggy Haraldson, and Lagertha Lowe._

_Among the charges: battery, assault on a police officer, resisting arrest, and utterances--threats of bodily harm toward another person._

_Also taken into custody, Lowe’s ex-husband, millionaire real estate investment broker Kalf Hedeby. The arrest report is heavily redacted.  Photos taken at the scene show broken furniture, shattered glass and blood._

_Lothbrok is embroiled in an ongoing divorce dispute with his wife, model Aslaug Sigurdsdottir. Sigurdsdottir recently became the new face of Alexander McQueen’s upcoming fall release. The two have a three-year-old son. Records from Lowe’s divorce from Hedeby are sealed._

_Lowe and Lothbrok have battled affair rumors for years. Kwinthrith Mercia, the latest addition to the cast, says the two are engaged and accuses Lowe of assaulting her on set._

_“It was unprovoked. She believed I was sleeping with her fiance. It’s not true,” the actress said. “The Shieldmaiden’s Tale” continues to be one of the highest rated shows on television. Its highly-anticipated third season is set to premiere this fall._

[www.PEOPLE.com](http://www.PEOPLE.com)

.

.

Ragnar’s mugshot, complete with his bloody forehead, accompanies the story.

Torstein and Helga are trying to run damage control. “Make sure there’s _no_ release of Lagertha’s photos,” Helga barks into the phone.

“Where are we with Ragnar’s bail? Are we paying straight cash? No collateral?” Torstein is pacing and taking into his cell phone.

They’re hustling. Helga switches phones.

“Yes. Ecbert, Yes. We KNOW. We’re trying… look, we have to call you back.”

“Okay, okay. Legal. Yes!! Fine. Okay, we’re handling it. Look, this will be cleared up by tomorrow. First appearance is at 8—we _know_.” Torstein hangs up.

The phones keep ringing.

“Siggy, how’s she doing? Okay good. Keep her there. Tell her Caroline is on the way now.”

 Finally, after hours of crazy, they collapse onto the couch, exhausted.

“I can’t believe this shit,” Helga says, looking dejected. Torstein reaches over her and opens the refrigerator by the side of the couch. He reaches in and pulls out two mini-bottles of crown royal. “A toast,” he says.

“To what?”

“To survival. What are we doing about his first appearance tomorrow?” Torstein looks at her. Helga smiles.

“That’s why I called Caroline.”

.

.

There are a battery of tests that are run. Photos taken. She’s given a private room, and Siggy is with her, thank God for that, at least.

Despite her insistence that she’s fine, the doctors insist even more she stay. Until the test results come back.

 Her clothes are taken and catalogued. hair samples, fingernail scrapes…every possible place she gets poked at prodded. She damn near snaps at the nurse who comes asking for urine—procedure, the woman tells her. A pregnancy test.

Pregnancy test. Lagertha rolls her eyes and is about to kick the nurse out, but its Siggy who lays a hand on hers. “Lags, we’re trying to free your fiancé and keep your ex-husband in jail. Just do it.” Siggy is worried, and she can see her own image reflected in her best friend’s eyes. She looks harried, hair a mess. Draped in a thin hospital gown. And so, for Siggy, she complies.

They wait for what feels like eternity when the doctor steps into the room with solemn eyes. It makes her sit up, worried for what he’ll say. It seems every time she’s in the hospital, it’s always bad. But the words that come out of the doctor’s mouth make her stop breathing. Because there’s absolutely no way… And she tells him so. But he shakes his head.

“You are most certainly pregnant, Ms. Lowe.”

.

.

He’s pacing in his cell, isolated from general population. Ragnar has been up all night—still in the same clothes he was in when he arrived. They at least allowed him to wash the blood off his face and hands, but only after they took the mugshots. No one has told him anything. And when he closes his eyes all he sees is Kalf on top of Lagertha. It makes him want to punch something all over again. So he does. The cement wall. Until his knuckles are bloody. He doesn’t know what happened after he was arrested. He doesn’t know if Lagertha is alright. He hopes she is…for Kalf’s sake she better be…

“Lothbrok,” he looks up when he hears his name. “Get ready, you’re up for first appearance.”

They do it remotely these days.

He’s shackled and taken to an empty courtroom in the jail and seated in front of a monitor. He can see an empty courtroom with the judge, what looks like another lawyer and…Caroline? He squints. Seated next to her is another woman, tall a brunette. And dressed in a suit.

“Mr. Lothbrok can you hear us?”

He nods. “Yes.”

Good.  And Ms. Hartman, you’re representing Mr. Lothbrok, correct?”

“Yes, your honor.”

And Mr. Feldman, you’re representing the state? Correct?”

“Yes your honor. We ask that bail be set at $1.25 million.”

Fuck….

“You’re honor I believe that’s outrageous and based solely on Mr. Lothbrok’s job as an actor. He is not a flight risk, and as you will see, the circumstances of his arrest can be explained.” The lawyer, Hartman is on it.

“Very well Ms. Hartman. Mr. Feldman, please state your reasoning for setting bail at this amount?”

“You’re honor, Mr. Hedeby has sustained numerous contusions and facial fractures, he has a ruptured eardrum and possible neck injuries—all inflicted by Mr. Lothbrok.”

Ragnar holds back his smirk.

Ms. Hartman?”

“You’re honor, if you read the police report you’ll see Mr. Lothbrok along with Siggy Haraldson and Athelstan Priestly came home to find Mr. Hedeby assaulting Mr. Lothbrok’s partner.”

“Objection, your honor. The injuries sustained--"

“Overruled.”

“You’re honor I have brought the report from the hospital regarding her condition when she arrived,” Hartman says, already moving from behind her podium.

“You may approach the bench.”

The woman hands over a file and waits as the judge scans them quickly.

“Mr. Feldman, your request is denied. The client is ordered released. Bail set at $500. Ms. Hartman, your client is ordered to reappear within 90 days.”

The gavel sounds.

Ragnar gets out about six hours later. Torstein is waiting for him in the lobby.

“Ready to run the gauntlet? It’s nuts out there.” He nods, and out they go, into the scrum of flashbulbs, TV cameras, microphones, and reporters shouting questions. They slide into the back of a waiting car, and drive off.

He closes his eyes and sighs.

“A ‘thank you’ would be sufficient.” He opens them. Caroline is seated in the front looking at him.

“Thank you. How’s Lagertha?” She purses her lips and turns back to the front. “I haven’t seen her yet. I had to get you first.”

The car pulls up into Ecbert’s office building and they’re waved in.

“Why are we here?”

“Switching cars,” Torstein explains as the gate comes down and they pull into the underground parking garage. They move to another car and drive back out and away.

“Is all that necessary?”

“It is when your name is Ragnar Lothbrok and you just got arrested for beating up your fiancé’s ex-husband.” Seeing the expression on Ragnar’s face, he backs down a bit.

“Trust me, it’s necessary.”

The sun is setting by the time they pull back up to the house. Ragnar is first to go in.

“Oh thank God,” Siggy comes to hug him.

“Where’s Lags?”

“In her room. Asleep.”

He nods and heads down the hall to knock gently on the door. There’s no answer. He goes in.

She’s not there.

He goes to his room and opens the door and finds her in one of his t-shirts, curled up on the bed, asleep. She must have traveled. Ragnar goes over to the side of the bed to touch her. The sensation of a hand on her face makes her jump.

“Ragnar?”

He sits down on the bed as she comes close to him.

“What did he do to you?” His eyes are on the purple bruises on her wrists and the insides of her thighs.

“He didn’t do anything,” she says.

“But he tried to.” Ragnar is blunt about it.

It upsets him more than anything else and he reaches out for her, needing to touch her, to feel her, to check her over himself. She comes close and he wraps her in his arms inhaling her scent, his scent on her. He holds her tight as she buries her face in his chest, clinging to him.

“Aga?”

Lagertha looks up, seeing her mom in the doorway.

“Mom, what are you doing here?”

“She got me out,” Ragnar tells her. “She told Kalf where I was,” Lagertha tells him. They both look at Caroline.

“It was before you told me what he did,” she explains. “If I’d known I would have stopped speaking to him years ago.”

Lagertha can tell her mother feels guilty. She doesn’t want to rub it in.

“It’s okay, mom. Is Kalf still in jail?”

“Yes. And he’s going to stay there until he’s extradited back to the states. I’m going to have his ass.”

“What are we going to do about everything else?” Lagertha says quietly. “I’m pretty sure by now the studio has had it with us.”

“You worry too much. The studio only cares about two things. Money and ratings. And as long as you two bring in both, you’re good. But I am worried about what this means for Ragnar.” Caroline is leaning against the door, chewing her bottom lip, arms crossed.

“Why would it mean anything?” he says quietly attention on Lagertha. He’s still holding her, and she hasn’t moved from his embrace.

“Because Ragnar, if your ex-wife and her attorneys are smart, and I think they are, then they’ll try to use this in the custody fight—they’ll try to claim you’re a danger to your son.” She leaves them alone for the moment.

“Do you want to come out or stay in here?” He asks when they’re alone again.

“I want to stay in here.”

“Okay. I’ll be back.” Ragnar heads out into the living room. He gives his friends a hug. “Thanks you two. I appreciate it.”

 “We’re good Ragnar, don’t worry about us. We’ll see you in the morning,” Athelstan tells him. He bids them goodnight and goes back to his room for a shower. It’s when he’s alone that he realizes how tired he is.

The hot water beats down his body, his head, his face, shoulders, chest, back, legs…and he can feel the tension beginning to release. When he steps out and takes a look at the mirror though, it makes him cringe. There’s a large, circular cut above his right eye…from where he head-butted Kalf. And when he looks down at his hands, he sees the cuts across his fingers and knuckles. His left eye socket is starting to turn dark blue, but at least his eye isn’t swollen shut, and he knows without a doubt, Kalf looks far worse. There’s just a glint of satisfaction there, at least. But it’s over now.

His room is dark when he re-enters. He finishes drying off, and, not bothering with clothes, climbs under the blankets next to Lagertha. She backs up against him, her skin soft and he runs his hand down her side, tracing her curves. Tonight, he just wants her close. He’s asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. It’s only 6:30 p.m.

The custody hearing is coming up soon.


	48. Chapter 48

Ragnar wanted her to come with him to L.A. Tomorrow is the day. A resolution one way or the other.

They’re laying on the couch at his condo, shrouded in darkness. It’s quiet, save for the two of them breathing together. Ragnar’s got his arms around her, their fingers entwined. He kisses her neck.

“I have question,” she whispers to him. There is no better time than the present to have this conversation, and its one she’s been avoiding. But tomorrow, it will become real. And they have to figure out what they’ll do, especially if he loses in court.  

 “Shoot.”

“How much are your child support payments?”

 So _this_ is the conversation. He’d known it would come eventually. And for a moment, Ragnar wonders if this is going to be the thing that finally breaks them apart. Torstein had warned him a while ago about the potential impact of his situation and yet he hasn’t really focused on it—too concerned with winning Lagertha back than on what it could mean should he lose tomorrow and Aslaug gets what she wants.

“About $8,000 a month.”

“ _What?_ _How_ is that even fair?” Lagertha turns to look up at him, mentally running through the calculations. It’s more than a third of Ragnar’s pay for each episode. More than a third of his yearly income. And if their incomes are combined….

“And Aslaug wants alimony.”

“What does that even look like?”

“The old lawyer estimated if she got what she wanted, I’d basically be left with about a quarter of what I make.”

He sees in the way she’s looking at him that she’s bothered by it. He’d accepted his fate a long time ago.  They’ve never talked about money—not in this context, and he’s trying to determine to what degree of concern she’s at.

“You don’t want to marry a broke guy?” He offers.

She shakes her head. “It’s not like that. I never wanted you for your money, Ragnar. I’m more concerned about what this means for you—for us… because if she gets what she wants…we’ll both end up paying her.”

“I know.” It’s an awkward conversation. But they’ve already started it.

“What’s your net worth?” She asks, sitting up and untangling herself from his arms. But she holds his hand.

He looks around them.  “You’re looking at it.”

“Ok. What’s in your bank account?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Can you look? And do you have any outstanding debts?”

He shakes his head and goes to his phone, trying to remember his account information. After a few failed attempts, he calls the bank.

“I’ve got about $320,000.”

They’ve been working for nearly four years. The number should be far higher—closer to $800,000. And that’s just for the show. It doesn’t include the other work he’s done along the way. Lagertha’s crunching numbers, trying to remain calm.   

“What about other accounts, Ragnar?”

“It’s just that one,” he tells her.

Lagertha feels slightly sick. But she takes a deep breath, making a note to get him into a financial counseling class, ASAP.

“What about you?” He’s looking at her now, curiously. Silently, she hands him her phone with all her accounts pulled up.

Ragnar looks at it, adding the numbers up quickly. Lagertha could own him a 100 times over. She doesn’t need him at all. She could literally do and have anything she wants. If they were to get married and Aslaug wins both custody and alimony Lagertha would be paying for him and his son. It wouldn’t be fair to her.  

Since he’s met Lagertha, it feels as if Ragnar has done nothing but cause her problems. She gets hurt just for trying to love him. Torstein told him he was ‘fighting above his weight class’ but he didn’t realize at the time what the hell that meant. Now, though…he does. And he realizes how completely out of his league she's always been. 

Fuck.

“Half of that is an escrow account—a settlement from my divorce from Kalf.” She says quietly. Still…even without that…

Ragnar looks at her. “What do you want to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, with me. I wouldn’t blame you if you left. You shouldn’t have to pay for my mistakes.”

There’s no way he can marry her. He won’t allow her to pay for his bad judgement. The future Ragnar has dreamed of starts fading in front of him.

Lagertha rests her head on his chest, touching him softly.  

“We’ll figure it out.” Her fingers play in his beard. She kisses him on the forehead, the mouth… trying to reassure him, to reassure them both.

Court is tomorrow.   

.

.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

She can tell he’s nervous. Three years.

Ragnar is playing with her feet. Massaging them as they sit quietly on his bed. It’s 6 a.m. and the hearing starts at 9. He hadn’t slept last night, after their conversation, mulling over everything.

  “You’ll be fine,” she tells him firmly. A small smile is reward for the words. He’s grateful for her belief in him, but doubt still lingers as he thinks about all the ammunition he’s given Aslaug over the years.

He closes his eyes.

Ivar. He’d pay Aslaug whatever she wants…if he could only see his son.

“Are you hungry?” Lagertha pulls her feet back gently but Ragnar grabs one and pulls her down, proceeding to kiss her toes and lick her foot. “Yes…but not food.”

She laughs as he comes crawling up her body and laying on her to burrow his face in her neck. She wraps her arms around his back and gives him a hug.

“I’m…scared,” he tells her, voice muffled against her skin.

“No matter what happens, I’m not leaving,” she tells him. Because they committed to each other a long time ago. And they’ve already been through hell…high water doesn’t seem as daunting.

Quietly they begin to dress, and Lagertha fastens Ragnar’s tie. He’s dressed in a suit, and she’s in a blue wrap dress. They arrive together at the Los Angeles County Courthouse.

“Mr. Lothbrok?” A dark haired man with a beard approaches them. He’s Ragnar’s height, but slightly slimmer, with a solid build. His suit is obviously expensive.

“I’m Aethelwulf Wessex.” Ecbert’s son. Ragnar’s attorney.

Ragnar shakes his hand. “This is Lagertha.” Aethelwulf turns to her. “My father speaks highly of you both. Come.”

They walk inside the courtroom togetherand take a seat, waiting. After a while, the doors open again, and Lagertha turns to look. She turns back around just a quickly. Ragnar looks down at her, but a flash of red catches his eye and he looks up to see…his wife. Aslaug ignores them both and takes a seat in the aisle directly across from them. She huddles with her attorney.

“Final judgement is today,” Aethelwulf tells them. “No settlement. We’re all or nothing.”

Ragnar and Lagertha look at each other and his hand finds hers, gripping it tightly.

“All rise,” the judge enters.

They all stand until the judge takes his seat. Aethelwulf approaches one table, and Aslaug’s attorney takes the other.

The judge reads the docket. “Lothbrok vs. Sigurdsdottir?”

“Yes, your honor.” Aethelwulf confirms.

The judge shuffles papers.

“I see here Mrs. Sigurdsdottir demanding continued child support, permanent custody and alimony—you’re claiming emotional abuse and abandonment, is that correct?”

“That is correct, your honor,” her attorney replies. “Mr. Lothbrok carried on numerous extra-marital affairs.”

“We’ll get to that a moment. And Mr. Lothbrok is seeking joint custody? Is that all?”

“That is all, your honor. He is also rejecting Ms. Sigurdsdottir’s claims of abandonment, and alimony. He is willing to pay child support. All he wants is to be able to see his son,” Aethelwulf replies.

“Has he _not_ seen his son?”

“No your honor. Not since the child was born.”

“How old is the child?”

“Three.”

The judge’s eyes go back to Aslaug and her attorney.

“Explain. Why have no arrangements been made?”

“Your honor, Ms. Sigurdsdottir believes her husband is a danger to their son. Ragnar Lothbrok has a history of morally questionable behavior, drugs and alcohol, and he was most recently arrested for battery.”

“Mr. Wessex?”

“Your honor, what my client prefers in the privacy of his own home and in his bedroom are, quite frankly, personal. With respect to drugs and alcohol, I don’t believe social drinking is the same as alcoholism. And in the case of the battery charges—Mr. Lothbrok fended off a sexual attack against his partner.”

“So he _is_ having an affair.”

“Yes, your honor. However throughout the course of this relationship he and his wife have been estranged.”

“Could you please explain this...Australia incident?” The judge says, peering down from his bench.

Ragnar begins grinding his teeth.

Aethelwulf tries to deflect.

“I do not believe--” The judge cuts him off.

“Mr. Lothbrok’s wife claims that _your_ client, her husband, is of questionable moral character.  And she has repeatedly cited his behavior as a reason for withholding access to their son. I think the question is warranted. Mr. Lothbrok?”

Aethelwulf looks Ragnar. Lagertha shifts to let him out of the stand and he approaches the table to stand next to his lawyer.  

“Mr. Lothbrok do you have any explanation for what occurred in Australia?”

“I have none your honor.”

“Are you a drug addict?”

“No, your honor.”

“Are you an alcoholic?”

“No, your honor.”

“And yet your behavior, by most accounts was…”

“Incredibly stupid your honor. My…partner and I had recently lost our son and we were…separated as well.  I was…grieving…”

“That is a peculiar way to demonstrate grief, Mr. Lothbrok. As it stands now regardless of your estrangement with Ms. Sigurdsdottir, you are still her lawful husband and your actions then and now with respect to your present partner and others…are considered to be adultery.”

Ragnar lowers his head to the floor, eyes down. “I understand.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lagertha sees Aslaug sit up a little straighter. She and her attorney exchange glances.

“Your honor,” Aethelwulf comes back in. “I believe in this case, the infidelities go both ways. Included in the case file are numerous recorded phone messages left by Ms. Sigurdsdottir, along with text messages.  Mr. Lothbrok was a doting husband until he found his wife in bed with another man soon after they were married.

You’ll find note of that in his arrest record.  You will also note that Ms. Sigurdsdottir has also claimed numerous encounters with other men since that time. We were able to find records of the entire calls and both ends of the conversations and have attached those as well. It was _Ms. Sigurdsdottir_ who took Mr. Lothbrok’s son, did _not_ tell him where they were, and who abandoned _him_ in the marriage. Yes, he committed adultery, however, those relationships did not begin until _after_ Ms. Sigurdsdottir left with their child.  You will also find that this was not a relationship based on love, but greed,  as she herself has both written and stated in the messages and in the calls, all of which we have enclosed in the file.”

“Your honor, objection.” Aslaug’s attorney speaks up.

“Overruled. How does your client respond?”

“My client believes those recordings should be stricken from the record—words spoken between spouses in the heat of emotion can hardly be used against her—she was angry.”

“Is what Mr. Lothbrok says true? That _your_ client had an affair shortly after they were married?”

“It was not…”

“Is it true, Ms. Sigurdsdottir? And please, do not lie to me. I have already reviewed everything in this file.” The judge is speaking directly to Aslaug, who has remained silent throughout the exchange.

“I can explain.”

“Please approach.”

 Ragnar is still standing beside Aethelwulf, and now Aslaug goes to stand next to her attorney.

“You may speak.”

“I caught him cheating on me. I was angry and so I did to him what he did to me.”

“Did he cheat on you before or after you were married?” the judge asks.

“Right before.”

“And so, you wanted until the ink was dry on the papers in order to…exact your revenge? Did you not realize in doing so, _you_ became the adulterer, here?”

“I…” She can’t answer, because there isn’t one.

“Did Mr. Lothbrok ever cheat outside of his marriage, prior to the birth of the child?”

Aslaug shakes her head. “No, he did not.”

“Am I to assume then, that from the time you two were married, until the birth of the child, Mr. Lothbrok was a faithful husband?”

“Yes.”

“Can you explain the events which took place December 18th, 2016? _Why_ did you approach Ms. Lowe outside of a coffee shop last year?”

“It was a conversation between two women.”

“Ms. Sigurdsdottir—how long did you live at 2324 Oceanview?”

Aslaug moves to speak. “It was the home I shared with Ragnar.”

“And how long did you share that home?”

“Seven months.”

“And your marriage lasted just as long. Seven months…and three years of litigation,” the judge shakes his head.

Aethelwulf and Ragnar are quiet. The questions continue.

“Ms. Sigurdsdottir, at what point did you decide to permanently deny Mr. Lothbrok visitation without a court order? And please do not say he is unfit.”

“I was concerned about the environment Ivar would be placed in.”

“And yet you had no concerns with the environment as _you_ chose to live there? The home was purchased a month after your marriage. It appears to me he bought this place as a home for you and your son. And you also moved in. So, _what_ about the environment was concerning?”

“ _He_ was concerning.”

“What about him concerned you? You agreed to marry him, despite the fact that in your own words, he cheated on you. And clearly, you two have a child together. Surely you knew him well enough prior to conception….”

“His temper.”

 “Why did you leave the hospital without telling him of your whereabouts? His parental rights had not and have not been terminated. You are aware he has been trying to find you?”

“I …”

The judge is frowning. He turns his attention back to Ragnar.  “Mr. Lothbrok.”

“Yes, your honor.”

“When did your relationship with Ms. Lowe begin?”

“Nearly three years ago.”

And how long had your divorce been pending at that time?”

“Nearly a year.”

“How long were you in a relationship with Ms. Sigurdsottir before conception of the minor?”

“Four months.”

The judge peers at him over the top of his glasses. A long pause follows.  “And you two lived together for an additional seven?”

 “Yes, your honor.”

The judge picks up his gavel.

“This court hearing will resume in 30 minutes.” He gavels out. Ragnar follows Aethelwulf toward Lagertha and they huddle.

“We offered to split custody 60-40 but she declined the offer,” Aethelwulf tells them. We requested lower child support payments and she also declined. This is it. The judge will render his decision soon.” Aethelwulf stands back up.

“Mr. Wessex, a moment of your time?” Aslaug’s attorney has approached.

“Excuse us,” Aethelwulf says, going off to speak with the man.

How are you feeling?” Lagertha asks looking at Ragnar. He’s staring straight ahead, jaw locked. She can see the vein in his neck pulsing.  

“I’m here for you,” she says. “And I promise whatever happens, I won’t leave. We WILL figure it out. We’ll do what we have to do.”

Aethelwulf comes back. “She wants to make a deal.”

Ragnar and Lagertha look at him.

“Can that even be done right now?” She asks.

“It depends…they will agree to drop alimony, continue child support, and 25-75 visitation.”

“Who gets Ivar a quarter of the time?” Ragnar asks.

“You.”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t seen my son since he was born, Aethelwulf. And now I get to see him 25 percent of the time? No.”

Lagertha’s getting nervous. Aethelwulf nods and leaves.

The judge comes back in the chamber.

“All rise!”

He takes his seat at the dais and they all sit back down.

“Counselors, approach the bench.”

Aethelwulf and Aslaug’s attorney go to speak with the judge. Their voices are low, and Lagertha is straining to hear. She catches a few words.

Alimony…visitation…summers….provide…

The attorney’s depart.

“Mr. Lothbrok, Ms. Sigurdsdottir, please approach the stand.”

Lagertha gives his hand a final squeeze and he rises to go. Neither Ragnar nor Aslaug look at each other.

“My decision is as follows. Ms. Sigurdsottir, you have failed to prove your claim for alimony and it is hereby denied.”

Lagertha feels her heart beat a little faster.

“With respect to child support, this court finds previous decisions have been unfair to Mr. Lothbrok and given the unequal distribution of parental resources, I move this issue be sent for immediate reconsideration.”

She’s growing increasingly anxious.

“Now in the matter of the child, Ivar Ragnarsson Lothbrok, I find it egregious that the father, Mr. Lothbrok, has been intentionally denied access to his son. Your attorneys will arrange the parameters of custody upon my direction. On a personal note…the behavior of both parties has been abhorrent, and Mr. Lothbrok—your behavior concerning your personal affairs is particularly worrisome—especially given that you are considered a public figure. You may want to set a better example for your son. Ms. Sigurdsdottir, ‘revenge’ for slights committed _prior_ to your marriage is no reason at all to deny Mr. Lothbrok access to his son, _especially_ given the efforts he made in dealing with you. He bought a home for you and your son. He made efforts to stay with you despite your having him arrested, _and_ despite efforts to track you down and negotiate a settlement in good faith—settlements _you_ have rejected time and again. There is absolutely _no_ reason a seven-month marriage with no communal assets should have taken three years to resolve.  I will issue my final ruling within the next 14 days, but as of now, this marriage is y dissolved. And this hearing adjourned.”

They stand as the judge leaves the dais, and for a moment, it is silent. When the doors to the judge’s chamber close, Lagertha looks to Aethelwulf, who is coming toward them.

“What does this mean?” She asks Aethelwulf. He gives them a tight smile.

“It means Ragnar will get to see his son, and as of now, he’s single again.”

FREEDOM.

He can’t believe it. It doesn’t feel real. Lagertha squeezes him tight and he buries his face in her shoulder and exhales deeply.

Three years. He gets to see his son.

A blur of red rushes past and Lagertha looks up to catch sight Aslaug’s hair disappearing out the door.

“Lags,” Ragnar says his name through ragged breath.

“I love you. Thank you.” He pulls away from her and places a chaste kiss on her cheek.

 “Is it over now?” She looks at Aethelwulf. He nods. “It will be in 14 days. The judge is writing the formal notice of dissolution of marriage. We’ll begin work on the custody arrangement. Nothing less than a 60-40 split. Ragnar, your child support payments will be cut in half. All of it has been cleared. We just need to iron out living and school arrangements for Ivar.”

“How long until I can see him?” Ragnar’s anxious.

“As soon as you want. If Aslaug doesn’t comply, she’ll be held in contempt of court.”


	49. Year 3: August Part 1

**August**

_The Orange Moon rises as if emerging from Hel, and Shreya waits by the edge of town, using darkness as her cover. She waits, until Celine emerges from her home—except…it is not Celene—not the Celene she knows. In place is an old man, with a shrouded figure, stooped and hunched over with and long black robes…the figure begins walking into the fjords and quietly, Shreya follows._

_“So Shield-maiden, you’ve found me,” the voice is raspy as the black-robed figure turns to her. Shreya draws her sword._

_“Who—or what, are you?” She demands. The figure begins to fade into the fog, and Shreya hears something growl… she crouches low, watching warily at the creeping mist around her. Suddenly she spots two red eyes—Shreya jumps out of the way as the wolf lunges from the darkness at her. She rolls and climbs quickly to her feet, as they circle each other._

_“I am Fenrir, daughter of Frigg. Do you not recognize me?” The wolf speaks as it bears its teeth and lunges for her again. She dodges, but this time is cut, the wolf’s long claws scratching her shoulder. There is blood._

_“Why have you come here? What have you done to Valdemar?”_

_“Because you aim to keep me in chains, and I will not allow that. You desire my power. You aim for my kingdom, but you, daughter of Frigg, will never sit on my throne.”_

_Before her eyes, the wolf begins to change form. He becomes a human man—one she recognizes. King Ionas?”_

_Ionas laughs. “Surprised Shreya? You shouldn’t be.” He springs for her, grabbing her around the waist and bringing her down to the ground. She struggles against him as he begins to change form. Celene, Ionas, the old man…the wolf. Her sword is thrown from her hands and as she turns to go for it, she’s again struck across her back—her skin feels as it is on fire as she falls, and she feels the heavy paw of the wolf come down hard, pinning her to the ground. All of the wolf’s weight is brought to bear and she is being crushed, crushed…._

_What will Valdemar do without Shreya? The wolf says, its drool dripping across the side of her face. She can see her sword….so close…so close…_

_“What is a man without his woman? A husband without a wife? I will not allow you to kill me Shreya. You will never have my throne._

_She is dying. She can feel her body collapsing under the weight…but she cannot…her work is not yet done._

_“Valdemar will die without you, shield-maiden. You cannot keep him safe. Frigg’s blessings surround you—but no more._

_Her fingers find the hilt. And it is all she needs._

_Frigg, Freya…grant me strength…._

_She closes her eyes, and draws her last breath…_

_The wolf leans down expectantly. It is a mistake.  Shreya turns and with a cry, sinks her sword into Fenrir’s mouth._

_The howl awakens the city. In his bed, Valdemar sits up and notices his wife is not there. He runs in the direction of the howl and enters the fjord. It is covered by thick midst._

_“Shreya! Shreya!” He cannot find her. Cannot sense her. He has always been able to sense her._

_Shreya!! The mist begins to withdraw and it is there, by an abandoned hut, he sees two figures lying on the ground. He runs and falls next to wife’s body._

_“My wife! My wife? Can you hear me…Please…Shreya…?”_

_The healers have come now, awakened from the cries. And Valdemar, grieved, gives her over to them. They carry Shreya’s body away, working quickly…silently…_

_The earl looks down at the other body. He turns it over…Celene…but yet…as he looks he sees it shift, change…King Ionas….he draws back at the last figure…a wolf…and then, nothing. The wolf fades into the earth until all that remains is a gilded sword. The sword of King Ionas._

_He looks at it a moment, realizing what has happened. Celene…Ionas…the wolf…they are all the same._

_Shreya…_

_Valdemar rises to his feet and quickly goes to the healer’s home. He approaches cautiously…afraid. Shreya’s back has four deep gashes, her shoulder has been ripped as well. There is blood, so much blood._

_“Is she?” He cannot bring himself to finish._

_“She will live, Valdemar,” the old healer says._

_Alive. His wife is alive. And she has saved him once again._

_He is king now. And she is queen._

_“I am sorry, my love,” he says, kneeling next to her. “I do not know what came over me…”_

_Her eyes open and she raises a hand to his face._

_“Fenrir wanted you dead,” she says weakly. “But I kept you alive.”_

.

.

He keeps feeling on her. Touching her. But she hasn’t said anything yet. Even though her pants are becoming tight again. She’s trying to hold out to week 12. The safe zone. The greenlight.

 It’s just a little longer. Ragnar hasn’t asked directly, but his curious gaze and his insistence on touching her stomach let her know he definitely suspects.

“I’m getting fat,” is all she’s said about it, and kept on eating the cookies and cream ice cream she’s been enjoying the past few weeks. Luckily, there hasn’t been morning sickness. How she’s avoided that, she doesn’t know, but she’s grateful. Every little bit counts.

The end of filming comes right in time for the show panel.  And this year, Siggy, Athelstan and Ecbert are there. Ragnar and Lagertha aren’t alone this time. And it’s nowhere near as tense as it was the last time.

When the panel rolls around at the main convention, they walk on stage, waving and taking their seats. Athelstan—seeing opportunity, removes Ragnar’s chair, making him fall down. Lagertha goes to help him back up. And there’s some good-humored laughter at his expense in the hall.

Minutes later, when Athelstan takes a sip of his “water”—he spits it out—Ragnar has filled it with Vodka. Siggy and Lagertha are snickering. And Ecbert is watching it all, like a proud father over his children.

They take audience questions for about 45 minutes. Ecbert gets the lion’s share—devoted to history and historical accuracy. The rest of them get questions about their on-screen relationships. It’s a panel full of laughter, and they’re all having a good time, especially watching Ragnar sneak sips of Vodka and become progressively drunker. He’s in a trucker hat, ripped jeans, a faded t-shirt and sneakers looking completely disheveled next to Lagertha, who is dressed in slacks and a black pussy bow shirt and red heels. Another question comes from the audience.

A woman dressed as Ammala gets up.

“So I’m just curious about something—Ragnar and Lagertha…what’s your relationship status?”

It’s a question they’ve gotten every year for the past three years. This time they give a different answer.

“Occupied,” Lagertha says with a smile.

“Leashed.” Ragnar replies.

There are chuckles all around.

“I meant with each other,” the woman asks.

 “He’s my spirit animal.” Lagertha replies. “She’s got my leash,” Ragnar says with a grin that’s nothing if not lascivious.

There are cat calls and hoots.

“So are we going to have any scenes like the one from Season 1?” A guy dressed as Valdemar stands up.

“Unfortunately no—at least not between the two of them,” Ecbert says, butting in. This year, we’re going to see Valdemar and Shreya…go through some things.”

“Speaking of going through some things, Ragnar…you were recently arrested…”

“Case pending.” He says.

“Yeah, but--”

“Sorry, my attorney says I can’t discuss it.”

The panel comes to an end, and they manage to escape with their sanity still intact.

“So, where are you two heading?” Siggy asks them.

“Back to L.A. We’re meeting Ragnar’s ex-wife, tomorrow,” Lagertha says. He nods. “Yeah. I get to see Ivar.”

Siggy and Athelstan wrap him in a hug.

“I’m happy for you, man.”

.

.

Their lovemaking is quiet, unhurried.

 “Shit, Lags…” He groans out.

“Do you like it?”

“I _love_ it…”

“How much do you love it?” She teases, a seductive, husky drawl. She smiles against his mouth. Enjoying the heat of him, the feel of him, against her body. It’s just the right weight, the right pressure that makes her feel so safe, so secure. So…loved.

 “I could live here…die here…” He goes a bit deeper drawing hushed moans from her lips. He licks her down her neck.

“What else?” She breathes against his ear. A tickle against his skin. Her arms wrap around his body tighter, drawing him in.  “Tell me what you want…”

“I want a baby.”

At that, she snickers to herself. Today marks week 12.

Afterward, they’re still, enjoying the post-coital high.

 “We’re still contracted to one more season,” Lagertha tells him.

 “I’ve been thinking about that, too.” They love the show. It’s been good to them, but at this stage of their lives, they’re ready to move on. “We have to consider Ivar now.”

“Are you nervous?” Lagertha’s head on his chest, his fingers playing in her hair.

“Yeah.”

Tomorrow is the day. The day Ragnar gets to meet his son.

“You’re his daddy. It will be fine.”

Ragnar’s not so sure about that. He remembers the phone calls, Ivar calling for someone not him. He doesn’t know what Aslaug has told Ivar about him.

“What if she’s turn him against me?” He asks quietly.

“Then you’ll have to work that much harder.”

“What if I fail?”

“You won’t.”

He squeezes her.

“You really love me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She’s drawing circles in his chest with her fingers.

“Because you’re real, and you’re flawed and I love that you never gave up trying to get Ivar, and that you never gave up on me. We helped each other. You fixed me, set me free.  And I’d like to think I gave you some duct tape in a few places here and there, too.”

He laughs and gives her a kiss. “More like guerilla glue. And it’s in more than a few places, dove.”

She drifts off to sleep again, and when she wakes in the morning Ragnar is on the balcony, smoking. She steps outside.

“Give me those.”

Wordlessly he hands her the pack.

“And the one in your mouth.”

He hands it to her and she disappears a moment and comes out again.

“Come here.” He takes her hand and guides them into the shower. Its cold at first, then starts heating up. The water beats on them and Lagertha takes her time, washing Ragnar. After a minute he comes to himself and looks at her.

“I was wondering when you’d snap out of it,” she smiles as she fondles him and he realizes where her hands are. He smiles and turns her around to move her against the shower wall, nibbling on the back of her neck, both hands massaging her breasts.

“Babies?” He asks sliding inside her, one hand moving to her stomach to brace their bodies together.  

She leans back into the embrace.

“mmm hmmm…”

He stops, breathing on her neck. “Really?” There’s excitement. Hope.

Lagertha laughs, grabbing his other and putting it also on her belly. Its firm now, and slightly round. “Yes. So no smoking. As of now, you quit.”

“I knew it!” He laughs, and holds her tight, still feeling on her.

“Thank you, Dove.” He pauses a moment. “Do you think we’ll get twins?”

She laughs again as he slips back inside her.

.

.

It’s 10:15 a.m. and they’re supposed to be meeting Aslaug and Ivar at the La Brea Tar Pits at 10:30. Lagertha has taken his cigarettes, and the effects of morning sex are starting to wear off. But her news hasn’t. He’s both nervous and excited. Nervous, because he’s about to meet his som for the first time, and excited because there’s a new child on the way. And he knows to be grateful for both. His leg is jumping as they wait on a park bench. It’s a Wednesday, and since it’s early, the park hasn’t gotten busy.

“I’ve lived in L.A. for 13 years now and I’ve never been here,” Ragnar says. “Well, now you are. And hopefully soon, we can go explore.” Lagertha’s talking to him when they see a flash of red hair at the same time. Aslaug. She’s coming into the park, a little, dark haired boy clinging to her hand. They both stand, and Lagertha takes a step back to let Ragnar go.

He approaches her slowly, carefully.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Aslaug isn’t looking at him. Instead, she stoops down to get at eye level with her son. “Ivar, do you know who this is?” She says softly.

Ragnar gets down too, to examine his son. Ivar’s hair is black, like his grandfather’s. But those eyes…they look like his own. Sharp, and very blue.

“Daddy?”

He swallows hard.

“Hi, Ivar.”

The boy looks at his mother and then at Ragnar again, unsure.

“It’s okay, baby. Remember what I said? That daddy would come back? He’s here now. You can go to him.” Aslaug’s voice is shaking as Ivar turns to her and gives her a hug.

“Do I have to?”

Shit. Ragnar feels his chest tighten.

Aslaug exhales shakily and looks at Ragnar. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and he can tell she’s trying hard not to cry. There is no road map for this. No one to guide them.

“Why don’t we all go for a walk?” He suggests. Aslaug stands up. Ivar is glued to her leg, looking at him warily.

She nods. “Do you want to go for a walk with me and daddy?”

Ivar’s little face is so solemn as he looks between his parents. His mother keeps calling this strange man his father, and he looks familiar, but the child is still unsure. He nods, clutching yet closer to his mother.

They walk past Lagertha and she looks at Ragnar and gives him a nod and a soft smile of encouragement. She’s brought along a book to read, fully prepared and knowing this will take a while.

Ragnar and Aslaug walk with their son around the park. Ivar points out the different exhibits. “What is that?” Ragnar asks, pointing to a sabretooth tiger.

“Tiger!”

“And what sound does it make?”

“Rawwwr!!!” Ivar makes the sound. “Your turn.”

“Rawwwrr…” Ragnar growls and play lunges and Ivar giggles, rewarding him with a bright smile.

He smiles too.

 They keep going, pointing out the different animals, and slowly Ivar begins to detach from Aslaug and engage more with Ragnar, curiosity overriding fear. After about two hours they come back around to the front, with Ivar holding both his mother and his father’s hand.

They look down at their son.

“I’m glad you didn’t listen to me,” he tells her. “I was an asshole.”

“Thanks. And you were.” It’s all Aslaug says as they draw nearer to the tables where Lagertha is seated.

“Can I introduce him to her?” As soon as he says it, he sees a look of hurt cross her face.  

“Um…” At her hesitation, he can tell she wants to say no.

“We’ve talked about it,” he leans over to whisper to her so Ivar won’t hear. “Ivar only has one mom.”

Aslaug nods mutely. He bends down again to get at eye-level with his son.

“I want you to meet someone special to me,” he tells him. Ivar starts bouncing. “Okay, daddy!”

The trio walks over to where Lagertha is sitting. She gets up.

“Hi, guys.” She looks at Ivar and bends down, getting to eye level with the boy.

“And who might you be?”

Ivar hides behind Ragnar’s legs, peeping out at her. “Ivar.”

“Hi Ivar, I’m Lagertha.” She extends a hand to him and he takes it and shakes it seriously.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. I hope we can be friends.”

He smiles shyly at her then looks up at Ragnar. He bends down and picks his son up holding him close in a hug.

Lagertha smiles and sees Aslaug looking at them too.

“Do you want to hang out with your daddy for a little while?” She asks him.  Ivar nods and he and Ragnar settle on the bench.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Lagertha asks Aslaug. The other woman looks at her and nods. They’re going to be here a while.

It’s quiet at first. A long first, until Aslaug breaks it.

 “I’m sorry for approaching you…that day. It was—wrong. I wasn’t mad at you, I was mad at him.”

“I understand.”

They keep walking.

“Ivar is wonderful, Aslaug. I think you did a great job.” She smiles slightly, noting the careful way Lagertha carries herself. The sparkling yellow diamond ring on her left hand is hard to miss. The light catches it, making it glint. Aslaug draws a deep breath at the sight, ignoring the pangs in her chest, but doesn’t mention it.

 “Thank you…you did a good job too.”

“What do you mean?” Lagertha asks her. Aslaug laughs sadly.

“I can tell Ragnar’s different. He’s not the same man he was,” she says.

Lagertha nods. “I’ve heard the stories.” And she lived through Australia.

“We both made mistakes. I was stupid for trying to force him to love me when he didn’t. Ragnar never lied to me. He was always up-front about his ways. I just thought maybe...if I had his kid, he’d change. And he did, but it didn’t change how he felt about me. And I grew to hate him. I know what I said, what I did, but—I was just so hurt. And I went for where I knew I could inflict the most pain.”

She gets it. “You thought you could fix him.”

Aslaug nods.

“I thought the same thing with my ex-husband,” Lagertha tells her, her hand floating unconsciously to her stomach. “I lost five years of my sanity dealing with bullshit.”

They’re not enemies, not friends. But they are women. And they’ve both loved the same man. Aslaug’s eyes follow her movement. Confirmation. She feels a pang in her chest. It hurts a little. But it doesn’t burn like it used to.

They’ve managed to find their way back to the front, near the park tables. They look around but don’t see Ragnar or Ivar. A high-pitched giggle from the kids play area draws their attention.

 Ivar and Ragnar are playing on the swings—or rather, Ivar is on the swing and Ragnar is pushing him high.

“He’s a natural,” Aslaug says.

Lagertha nods. Yes. Little kids and baby goats love him.”

“Probably because they’re all children,” Aslaug says slyly.

They both laugh out loud at that one, and when they quiet again, Ragnar’s ex-wife speaks.

“He’s a good father,” Aslaug says, watching her son and his dad play together in the little park.  “I know he’ll be good to you and your baby as well.”

Lagertha looks at her, surprised. “I could tell,” Aslaug says. “You’re starting to show.”

It’s getting near closing time.

Father and son come back over to them.

“Mommy! Mommy! Daddy’s fun!” Ivar let go of Ragnar’s hand and runs to Aslaug.  She bends down and scoops him in her arms.

“I told you he’d be fun,” she says, rubbing noses with her son and adds playfully, “And you were so nervous.”

Ragnar looks surprised. Lagertha leans in.

“See? You weren’t the only one afraid.”

They say their goodbyes, and Ivar gives Ragnar a tight hug.

“Bye daddy! I love you!”

.

.

“He’s beautiful, Lags,” Ragnar says quietly, staring up at the ceiling.

“He’s got your eyes,” she says. “And your smile.”

“What were you and my ex-wife talking about?”

She drapes an arm across his chest and he reaches for her hand, lacing her fingers through his.

“Women stuff.”

Ragnar rolls his eyes. “Was it about me?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want to take Ivar away from her. He needs his mother.”

 She sits up and looks at him.

Ragnar sighs. “She didn’t turn my son against me, even though she had every right and reason too. I was…wrong. I did her wrong. Lags, you saw him. He’s happy.”

“Maybe you two could work some other things out in addition to the court order?”

“Would you be okay with that? Me talking to Aslaug?”

She nods. “Yes. Because you know who you belong to.” Lagertha leans in to kiss him. “You’re _my_ bitch.”

Ragnar laughs and pulls her down on top of him, kissing her.

“I am your bitch. But…” his voice drops a few octaves. “You’ll still do as I say.”

He’s already inside her when he utters the next.

“Son? Daughter? Twins? Triplets?” It makes her laugh, but she also knows he’s quite serious.

“You’ll have to wait a few more months for that, dear. But I’m pretty sure there’s only one.”

.

.

They work out a deal. Custody 60-40. Ivar will spend most of the school time with Aslaug so as not to disturb his routine. Ragnar gets breaks and weekends when he can. They’ll try to rotate holidays. A few days letter, the official notice of the dissolution of marriage arrives.


	50. Year 3: September

**September**

They’ve already told Ragnar’s parents and Caroline. But this is the first opportunity they’ve had since she told Ragnar the news for them to sit down and think it through a bit more.

 “We probably need to tell Ecbert first this time,” she says.

“Yeah….” He’s not enthused about it.

“What’s wrong?” They’ve stayed here during the off season. Neither of them are shooting anything, and most of their time has been spent just being together, and playing with Ivar. Tonight is the first night Aslaug has allowed him to stay the night, and Ragnar and Lagertha put him to bed a few hours ago.

 “I don’t want to go back,” he says. “I’m ready to move on from this.”

So is she. “But we’re obligated. We signed contracts for ten more episodes. We can make it. It’s just one more season.”

One more season…it’s not the time though, that has him concerned.

Ragnar’s quiet. “No fighting this time,” he tells Lagertha, holding on to her tightly.  She nods, a quiet understanding between them.

“I mean it. Absolutely no fighting. No stunts. No nothing,” he says again. “I don’t want you anywhere near the set on those days.”

“I won’t be. I promise.”

They’re pregnant again, and they both remember what happened last time. Neither want to feel that sort of loss again.

Eventually, they drift off to bed, but are awoken a few hours later when a small body climbs in with them.

 “Daddy?”

Ragnar opens his eyes to see two large blue ones staring down at him. He rolls over as Ivar climbs up his legs.

“Hey, what’s wrong little man? Why are you out of bed?” He sits up, his son on his lap.

“I’m cold,” Ivar tells him. Lagertha stirs and rolls over, opening her eyes to see Ivar in Ragnar’s arms.

“Well,” he tells his son seriously, “I suppose we’ll just have to keep you warm.” He slides over close to Lagertha making space for Ivar next to him. The little boy cuddles close against his chest and he drapes an arm around his son.

Ivar falls back asleep quickly, and Ragnar just marvels at his child. Lagertha moves against his back.

“You’re a great daddy,” she whispers.

“He’s so beautiful,” Ragnar says, gently brushing a dark lock of hair away from his son’s peaceful face.

He can’t help but feel a bit emotional. Ivar, Lagertha and now…a baby on the way. His family. All of them in the same space for the first time.

.

.

Somehow, when talking to Helga, Lagertha realizes neithre she or Ragnar have told them about the engement. Nor the pregnancy. And so, she breaks the news to her assistant.  

“I’m happy for you two,” Helga says.  “I was waiting for you to say something. Caroline told me a few weeks ago. Now, I suggest we get in front of this story before someone else decides to rat you out.”

 “What about something in GQ?” Torstein suggests when Ragnar makes a similar call.  

“A spread in Vogue?” Helga pitches. Lagertha is a bit ‘meh’ on it.

“What about that guy with Variety…what was his name? The one with the fabulous write up? How about him? Arne? We could definitely set that up,” Helga tries again. It sounds appealing. “I’ll ask Ragnar about it,” Lagertha tells her.

They confer, and Ragnar agrees and calls Torstein back.

 “Or…” Torstein draws it out slowly. “Why don’t we get Ragnar into GQ? Get Lagertha into Vogue, and have them do a joint interview with Arne? That way we maximize exposure, and everyone gets what they want—you two are speaking to your target audiences, and you get to make the announcement on your own terms, plus, you get the writer you want to work with.”

.

.

Timing is everything. She’s approaching 16 weeks. Four months in. And now, it’s obvious. Her little bump isn’t so little anymore.

“Are you good with doing it alone?” Lagertha asks. Interview day. Ragnar’s session starts at 10. Hers is at noon. Variety is scheduled for 6 that evening. It’s going to be a very long day.

“For you, I will.” She knows how much he hates interviews. None of them have ever been voluntary.

“Try to behave.” He gets a kiss on the cheek and watches as his pregnant fiancé heads out the door. As soon as it closes, Ragnar goes to a kitchen cabinet and reaches toward the back, pulling out a secret stash of cigarettes.

An hour later, and he’s at a downtown studio drinking jack and smoking when GQ’s editorial and photography team walk in. He gets up and shakes hands with the crew. He hasn’t smoked in two months, not since Lagertha threw away his pack the morning of the hearing, but right about now, it’s the nicotine and liquor that are keeping him from jumping out of the nearest window.

“So, what do you want me to do?” He’s not exactly dressed the part of an actor. Lagertha had left him to his own devices, and he’s presently wearing a pair of old light colored, torn jeans with dirt stains, flip flops, ar thin t-shirt and faded hoodie. Since the end of filming, his hair has grown out a little. Not enough to comb, but desperately in need of brushing.

“Let’s do some test shots like you are now,” the photographer says. Ragnar exhales smoke rings.

“You guys don’t mind? Knocks the edge off.”

He lets them snap away as he finishes off his cigarette and downs the rest of his Jack. Morning drinking. Lagertha would kill him if she knew.

“Okay good. We’ve got a nice white balance. Can you head to wardrobe?” Ragnar nods. He’s done enough photoshoots to know how these things go. Once in wardrobe he meets with the designer. “So what do you guys want to do with me?” She looks at him, studying him.

“Why not shoot as you are?” He’s perfectly okay with that. So that’s what they do. He kicks his shoes off and gets comfortable back on the stool. A few more cigarettes. A few more shots of jack.

“Can you take off your jacket?” He does, allowing the photographer to do her job.

“ _God_ you’re so easy,” she says with a smile.

The laughs is dry. Rueful. “That’s what women have told me.” 

She realizes the double meaning and covers her mouth with her hands. “I’m so sorry!”

“Nah. I know what you meant. It’s good.” Ragnar smiles at her and she flushes and goes back to snapping, hiding her embarrassment behind the camera lens.

Afterward, the interview. By far the part he’s been not looking forward to. But, a deal’s a deal. And he knows Lagertha is doing hers now as well.

“Describe in one word how the past year has been for you?” Better.

“Favorite liquor?” Jack.

“Favorite sex position?” All of them.

“What’s your kink?” Lagertha Lowe.

“Favorite woman?” Lagertha Lowe.

“Favorite food?” Lagertha Lowe.

 And they keep going like that.

**.**

**.**

She’s looking at herself, all dressed up in a ball gown, and she’s trying to decide how she feels about it.

 “I don’t know,” she tells Helga when they’re still in wardrobe.

“Then what do you want? You forget this is Vogue. Isn’t this the point?” Lagertha’s shaking her head. “Maybe we should have just did the Variety piece. I’m not sure I’m comfortable like this.”

“Okay. Hold on.”  Helga leaves and comes back with the shoot designer. “She hates it.”

“I don’t hate it…it’s just…not me. I don’t think it’s honest.”

“Why don’t you put back on your clothes, and let’s start from there?”  So she does. And they start the shoot. Black tennis shoes, black compression pants. Sports bra and boxing gloves.

They switch outfits—a classic little black dress a-la Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

And another. A man’s pinstriped suit, with red heels. In every frame, a glittering yellow engagement ring on the left hand. The clothes are conservative. But each outfit accentuates her stomach. A conciencious choice.

Afterward, the interview.

She answers honestly.

Yes, to the fight involving her ex-husband.

Yes, she’s engaged.

Yes, her fiancé is Ragnar Lothbrok.

No, no date yet.

Yes, she’s happy.

Yes…she’s pregnant.

Why _Him_? That takes a bit longer to explain. But she does her best, even as the reporter looks at her skeptically.

.

.

The return to the Variety offices is welcomed after GQ and Vogue. Arne comes out to greet them.

“I’m honored you guys asked for me,” he says with some amusement.

 “We really liked your story, from last time.” Lagertha says.

“Well, I write what I see. Sometimes it’s not what people say, but what they do. Actions speaking louder and stuff like that. Do you want something to eat? Drink?” Arne guides them to his office, and they settle on the couch. He takes a seat not in front of them, but a little off to the side.

“Do you have any juice?” Lagertha says. Arne opens a refrigerator for her and pulls out apple. 

“Anything for you, Ragnar?”

“Jack, if you have it.” Lagertha looks at him and notices the red eyes. She leans in closer and takes a sniff. Liquor…and cigarettes. She wrinkles her nose at him.

“What?”

“You know I hate that. You’re not supposed to be smoking. ”

Ragnar leans over and kisses her.

“But I know what you don’t hate,” he says, running his beard across her cheek and lowering his head to lick her behind the ear. “I didn’t say I’d behave for this one.” He whispers. Because right now, he’s lit after drinking most of the day to get through the GQ meeting. Arne’s watching them with amusement.

“You two remind me of me and my wife.”

They look at him. “Yes, even broke journalists marry other broke journalists,” he laughs, then sighs a bit. “Sorry about that.”

“No, tell us.”

So Arne tells them about his wife. About how he loved her, how hurt he was when she died last year. “We know how that feels,” Lagertha says. “We lost someone too, last year.” Ragnar grabs her hand and squeezes it, leaning back on the sofa.

Arne sits back and lets them talk. He’s not taking notes, just recording by memory, following their movements with his eyes. He notices the way they lean into each other, the way Ragnar keeps one arm around Lagertha at all times. The way she looks at him and wrinkles her nose when he says something dirty and the way he smiles at her when he does it. What’s even more telling is how their hands keep resting on her belly, and there’s a ring on her finger. She asked for juice earlier.

“Yes, and yes.” Ragnar says, seeing Arne’s unasked question.

He nods.

They stay in Arne’s office for more than an hour, telling him pretty much everything. Every part of the past year, the highs, and lows—mostly low’s really. And how they had to fight their way back just to break even.

It’s nearly dark when Lagertha finally notices the time.

“Oh wow. Those poor people in photography.”

Arne waves in the air. “They’ll get over it. But I should probably take you to them.”

The set is warm and there’s a bed laid out for them.

They look at it, and then at Arne. He shrugs. “Not my idea. You can change it if you want to.”

The shoot designer comes up to them.

“So, I want to get you two in bed. But don’t worry, you won’t be naked. Lagertha, here is the top--” Lagertha gets a men’s plaid cotton pajama top. “And Ragnar, you get the bottoms.”

They walk out to the set and wait for futher instructions.

“Let’s do a few test shots. Just do whatever,” the photographer tells So they go. And the lights turn down low. There are candles and the blankets are warm. She snuggles close to him.

“You guys just do what you do. Ignore me.”

They know better than to do that. But the cameras do stay pretty far back, and they’re close to each other, and it does feel sort of like being in one of their rooms in the early days of their relationship.

Ragnar’s looking at her, a sly smile playing at his lips. She lays her head on his chest and he holds her, hand on belly.

“What are you thinking?” She asks, looking up at him.

“I’m thinking I want to kiss him…or her.” She bites her lip.

 “But…then everyone will know.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone will know anyway considering we told Arne,” he says. “And even if we didn’t-- There’s only so long you can go. And I don’t think you really want to hide again, and I know I don’t want too.  At least this way, it will be on our terms.”

She nods and they shift. He unbuttons the shirt from the bottom, leaving her chest covered but exposing the round expanse of skin. And its there, on her tummy that he places kisses, all the while looking at her. At one point—he crosses his eyes and touches his tongue to his nose, making her giggle. Large hands make a triangle on the spot and he kisses again. It tickles, the feel of his beard against her skin and Lagertha laughs quietly again, watching what he’s doing.

He’s so obsessed.

“See? I told you I’d behave.” There’s that not-so-innocent grin again followed by another kiss before he lowers her top and comes back up to hug her again. She brings the furs up around them and they lay together, her spooned into his body.

“I see you, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“But I know what’s on your mind.”

“What’s on my mind?” It’s husky. His hand runs down her thigh. The covers record the movement.

“Stop it,” Lagertha laughs. They’re speaking in hushed tones, quiet whispers.

“Stop what?” The hand slides between her legs. She shifts a bit, trying to stop him without letting on to anyone else exactly what Ragnar is doing.

She turns her face to the side and his lips reach hers. One finger tries to slip in but she clenches her thighs together tightly and shakes her head.

The liquor on his tongue is now on hers.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I can’t help it. I think I found a new kink,” he whispers.

“What’s that?”

“Pregnant public sex,” he mumbles into her neck.

“Oh no you don’t.”

.

.

**Sex, Lies and Love: Lothbrok and Lowe Come Clean**

_He’s drunk. She scrunches her nose up at him. “You know I hate that,” she says._

_“But I know what you don’t hate,” he tells her, nuzzling her neck gently. She lets him kiss her, even with cigarettes and whiskey on his breath._

_Its late afternoon and they’ve both just come from other shoots—he was at GQ, she was at Vogue._

_“Why me?” I ask._

_“Because we liked you,” they say. I don’t really know what makes me special. My wife died last year. I’d been punching way above my weight class, and her loss was, and remains devastating. The canoodling stops a moment and they look at me with identical sad faces. What they reveal, just by being here together, is something long rumored but never confirmed. Yet… never denied either._

_Lagertha Lowe and Ragnar Lothbrok’s visit is turning into something quite unexpected.  It’s definitely not the way they were before. The first time they graced my office, their bodies had merely suggested it. This time though, they show it. It’s in the way he keeps her close, the way he touches her, their hands together. For years, there has been speculation. But it’s clear now why they’ve come._

_So how did this notoriously private and cagey couple get to the point that they’re sitting on my couch?_

_The story is long. Three years in the making. But I am a patient man. And so, quietly, they speak, and I listen._

_Lothbrok says he never told Lowe he was married when they were dating because, “I was too chicken shit to fess up.” And it cost them both, dearly._

_I lost my wife last year. They lost a child._

_The certificate of death reads a date: February 22, 2015. A boy. One pound, nine ounces, 11 inches long. The document carries two signatures: Ragnar Sigurdsson Lothbrok. Lagertha Louise Lowe._

_The on set accident that sent Lowe and three other people to the hospital is the one that caused the miscarriage. Never have they spoken of it. And even now it’s just a reference, brought about because of my admission. Still, Lothbrok nods in confirmation at the question I do not ask. This is the thing that tore them apart. It wasn’t the lie. It wasn’t his wife._

_Tragedy brings about the worst in people. Grief is unpredictable._

_Lowe tried to move on with someone else. Lothbrok melted down. They were both deeply unhappy._

_“You’re talking about Australia,” I say. He cringes at the mention of the country. Lowe rubs his hand gently, and he nods._

_Australia was the bottom._

_Drugs. Alcohol. Sex._

_Grief. Sorrow. Loss._

_A potent and dangerous combination if there ever was one._

_“It’s been a long few years,” he says. That’s understatement at best. But the actor says he had to earn the right to be with Lowe after “lying about a few things.”_

_But how can there be trust when the foundation is sand?_

_“Not sand. Stone. Steel. Fire. Foundation.” She’s resolute in that. “We took the time to build one,” she says. “And it helped us withstand everything else.”_

_Ths was not some whirlwind love affair. “I courted her,” Lothbrok says. “From the beginning. We went slow, we sped up, we crashed and burned. We crawled out from the ashes…but our foundation never broke.”_

_Maybe they’re not so weak after all._

_Before “Shieldmaiden’s” Lothbrok was a struggling actor with a few modeling credits and stunt gigs to his name. Lowe had just finished her first feature film and was rumored to be in talks for the lead in upcoming Captain Marvel movie.  He’s punching above his weight class when it comes to her, just as I was with my wife. And it seems like he knows it. I ask about the notorious “scene” in season 1—curiosity getting the better of me. At that, he flashes a rare grin, full of deviousness, and I get a brief peek behind the curtain, though no straight answer. Lowe’s response is to shift and cross her legs. He nibbles at her shoulder, but raises an eyebrow at me._

_I ask about Kwenthrith Mercia and the broken nose._

_“That was unfortunate. But accidents sometimes happen.” Lowe says quietly. She’s got black belts in Karate and Taekwondo._

_What about the fight in Canada? They both tense. The playfulness stops immediately. Lothbrok’s hold on Lowe tightens. She shifts a bit, looking up at him, then at me._

_“My ex-husband decided to stop by for a visit.” She says finally, after a silent conversation between the two of them._

_“And I showed him the door,” he says bluntly. “And the floor. And my fist.” The way Lothbrok explains it makes me shiver. It’s a different side of him. I wouldn’t want to be Kalf Hedeby.  The charges against Lothbrok were recently dropped. But Hedeby still faces several felonies. He’s out on bond but largely relegated to what amounts to house arrest._

_It’s late by the time we realize the photograpy team has been waiting more than two hours. I usher them to the studio and wardrobe takes them--he’s got on the pajama bottoms, she’s got on the top. They whisper quietly to one another on the bed that’s been placed on set, the photography team working around them. They’re incredibly close, physically but emotionally as well. Lovers. And friends.  He whispers something to her and kisses her passionately, working his way down her body until he comes to her belly. Slowly, he raises the top, placing his lips on her stomach before working his way back up._

_Here, they reveal one more secret._

_Throughout this interview and their photoshoot, Lothbrok’s hands have rested gently on Lowe’s belly. Almost two years after the first loss, she’s pregnant again. And there’s a glittering, pear-shaped yellow diamond ring on her left hand._

_She brings the blankets around both of them. And the covers move as they do. Slowly. I wonder exactly what’s going on under there. A replay of “the scene” perhaps?_

_They laugh quietly with one another. He pulls her close and she lays on his chest. Their eyes start to close as the cameras snap away. It’s approaching midnight, and they’re both exhausted. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and hers are starting to get puffy._

_Their foreheads touch._

_Noses too._

_Lothbrok’s divorce was finalized a few months ago._

[WWW.VARIETY.COM](http://WWW.VARIETY.COM)

**.**

**.**

**Ragnar Lothbrok: The Good, Bad & Ugly**

_It’s mid-morning and he’s already had more than a few shots of Jack and is chain-smoking Marlboro cigarettes. “Nervous habit,” he explains. “She hates it.” Ragnar Lothbrok is disheveled. Unshaven. He’s still rocking the bald look of Valdemar, and his jeans are worn and torn at the knees, his hoodie faded. Only Lothbrok could make hobo look hot._

_“I got $5 from a nice old woman when I was walking down the street,” he says. “She thought I was homeless.”_

_At one point, he nearly was. Thirteen years ago when he first moved to L.A. from Iowa._

_“Farm boy,” he explains._

_Lothbrok says he thought acting would be easy money. Turns out, not so much. His first modeling gig came about due to desperation. “I was hungry. And I wasn’t calling home.” So he stripped down to his underwear.The photos live in infamy on the internet. “It paid the bills.” It’s something he rarely talks about. Almost as if he’s ashamed of it. But the ad campaign got his face before the studios. It also got him a few more acting gigs. Some stunt-work. Nothing major, but he could eke out a living. So what of the other stuff?_

_Lothbrok takes a long drag on the cigarette between his fingers and exhales. “What other stuff?” He’s not volunteering. He wants you to ask. You have to precise in order to get a straight answer._

_“Describe in one word how the year’s been for you?” Better, he says._

_“Favorite liquor?” Jack. He takes another shot._

_“Favorite sex position?” All of the above. And below._

_Last year Lothbrok went on a week-long sex bender in Australia. There are no photos, but there are plenty of stories. “Annie’s Tale” is one of the best known. But more than a dozen other women have come forward claiming to have been with him that week._

_“I want to talk about what happened in Australia,” I say._

_“I don’t,” he answers._

_“People want to know. Is it true?"_

_He just glares at me. It’s clear this part of the conversation is over. But it’s not the end of the story._

_What’s lesser known is Lothbrok’s time in L.A. when he wasn’t so famous._

_“I’ve heard about your L.A. exploits,” I tell him. We used to run in the same circles. And I’m a woman. Women talk. He just looks at me, saying nothing. Ragnar Lothbrok has long been something of a Lothario. Ask around certain parts of town and there’s someone who knows someone who’s been with him. He’s still looking at me, those piercing blue eyes sharp. Searching._

_“What’s your point?” It comes out slowly, and there’s something a bit dark in it._

_I admit, I don’t really have one. I was just curious about what he’d say. Everyone is curious. Everyone wants to know. Maybe there’s something to keeping certain things private._

_“I was different person back then.” He says grudgingly._

_What changed?_

_“I found what I was looking for.”_

_I ask who his favorite woman is, expecting him to say his mother. Or a favorite teacher. Someone he admires. “Lagertha Lowe.” It’s straight to the point. The most direct he’s been so far._

_Lowe. His co-star. His rumored long-time girlfriend. The “she” he mentioned earlier. What…or rather, who he says he was looking for._

_He fell in love with her. Beat up her ex-husband. Cheated on his ex-wife with her. The last point gets a rebuttal.  Lothbrok shakes his head. “I never cheated on Aslaug.” But he won’t elaborate. In reality, their marriage lasted seven months. On paper, it lasted three years over a custody battle._

_Aslaug Sigurdsdottir. Her face is everywhere lately. She’s the green-eyed, gorgeous red-headed model who’s walking for all the top fashion labels now. Their divorce filings tell two different stories. She claims Lothbrok was verbally and emotionally abusive. He says she was manipulative and conniving. Their divorce agreemet is sealed. And he doesn’t provide any more details._

_Instead, Lothbrok goes quiet, almost pensive…reflective, seeming to realize he’s said more in this moment than he has the entire interview. He sits there on a barstool barefoot, looking like the modern version of Auguste Rodin’s “Thinker”; a man consumed, possibly tortured by his own thoughts. In previous interviews, writers have noted how he likes to change the subject when they get too close to something personal. I wait to see if he’ll do it now. But he doesn’t. Instead he comes out of it and lights another cigarette, and takes another shot of Jack Daniels, his favorite drink. He’s had at least four cigarettes, and even more shots._

_“Can we talk about what happened between you and Lowe?”_

_“Depends on the question.”_

_“Tell me about the scene.” Lothbrok rolls his eyes. “Why is everyone so obsessed with that?” Why wouldn’t we be? Yes, it was two years ago. Season 1, but still…it was so damn hot. I confess, I masturbated to it. And I know I’m not the only one._

_He chuckles, but says nothing._

_Rumors have plagued them since season one—but they’ve neither confirmed nor denied being in a relationship._

_Is that a confirmation? He just looks at me with a smirk. Lothbrok and Lowe recently appeared at Comic Con together this past summer. She sported a large rock on her left hand. I ask again, this time, making specific mention of it._

_“Are you two engaged?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Finally, a straight answer. I get bolder, testing the waters seeing how hard I can rock this boat. I ask about the other thing—the accident, and the pregnancy rumors._

_But all the playful flirtiness quickly drains away, and Lothbrok is back to being closed again. This time I get silence. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He just takes another drink. His eyes are bloodshot by now. So we move on._

_What about that fight in Toronto? Lothbrok’s got a circular scar over his right eye. It’s healed, but visible. “Ask the other guy.” It comes out hard and bitter._

_Of course I can’t ask. Kalf Hedeby is out on bond, but facing multiple felony assault charges. He’s Lagertha Lowe’s ex-husband. There’s enough there to read between the lines. Hedeby and Lowe divorced nearly four years ago and the records from the proceedings along with the settlement arrangement are sealed tight._

_“Any more questions?” Those eyes again. His eyes have changed color throughout this interview. At some points light, some points dark. They change with his mood, a sort of guide to show when to push forward and when to back off._

_“So what are you going to do now?”_

_“I have another interview.”_

_It’s not exactly the answer I wanted. So I reframe it._

_“What will you and Lowe do now?”_

_He says the third time was the charm. They’ve been off and on for three years. They’re finally “on” again. And he’s trying to stay there._

_www.gq.com_

.

.

**Lowe and Lothbrok: Will Love Keep Them Together?**

_The first thing you notice is that Lagertha Lowe is gorgeous. Not the enhanced-type seen these days walking the streets of Hollywood with fake hair, fake breasts, fake nails and everything else. She’s a natural kind of beautiful. No makeup on flawless skin. Just look at the photos accompanying this story. She insisted they not be retouched. And they haven’t been._

_We tried first for a ball gown—after all, this is Vogue. Home of the glamor shot. But she’s not comfortable in it even though she looks spectacular. “It’s just not me,” she says. It’s not where she is in this moment in her life. And at this moment in her life, she’s more comfortable in the workout clothes she came dressed in._

_There’s ring on her left hand. She’s spinning it around and around with her thumb. Who’s it from?_

_“Ragnar Lothbrok.” Yes. Her co-star. The man who lied to her about his wife, and his kid. The man who she’s had to suffer for in the press—because of course, it’s always the woman’s fault—never the man’s. That Ragnar Lothbrok. The Emmy-award winning actor who some have likened to the next James Dean. The guy who orchestrated what can only be described as a drug-fueled week-long orgy in a hotel room in Australia. The guy who cheats on his wife. The guy who beats up ex-husbands._

_That guy._

_But Lowe apparently sees something different._

_“No one is perfect.”_

_Lothbrok has been in a years-long divorce circus played out in continuances and in the halls of L.A. County Superior Court. Then there’s the fight in Toronto involving him and Lowe’s ex-husband, and the question of whether Lothbrok cheated on his wife with Lowe, and, whether he cheated on Lowe with fellow actress Kwinthrith Mercia. Mercia claims Lowe struck her on set.  There are a lot of lines to be drawn here. Someone get a chart._

_There’s been more drama off the set of “The Shield-maiden’s Tale” than in the actual story itself. And Lowe’s career has certainly suffered for it. She had been rumored as the lead for the upcoming Captain Marvel movie—a role that went to someone else. “Shieldmaiden’s” was snubbed at last year’s Emmy Awards—Lothbrok and Lowe lost out on the top prizes which they won the year prior and by most critical accounts, they should have won again._

_Was, or is, it worth it?_

_“My happiness is my own. And no one but me decides what I do. Or who I choose to do it with,” she says._

_The actress has movie titles under her belt. An Emmy award. She’s got a hit show, and while the events of the past three years have largely played out publically, she has shied away from the spotlight while Lothbrok, through his behavior, has inevitably found himself in it. How does she cope with that?_

_“I’ve got friends.” Friends like Siggy Haraldson and Athelstan Priestly.  And she’s got her super-lawyer mother Caroline Lowe. She also has Lothbrok. Do they love each other?_

_“Deeply,” she says._

_Why? How? What of all the other things? Lothbrok says he didn’t tell Lowe he was married when they started their relationship. He says he lied to her. “But I’m no angel either,” Lowe says. I left him. He never left me.”_

_Even when it got rough. Even when it got bad. And according to Lowe, it got very bad._

_“We hurt each other,” she says. “We tried to punish each other.”_

_So what brought them together in the first place? “We both needed fixing.” When they met, she was newly divorced and he was in the process of one._

_By all accounts though, Lothbrok’s split from model Aslaug Sigurdsdottir was agonizing. A three year fight over custody of the former couple’s young son. And in the thick of it, Lothbrok and Lowe suffered a staggering loss--a miscarriage, triggered by an on-set accident._

_“But he never left,” she says. “Even when I wanted him too.”_

_Was that dedication? Delusion?_

_She shakes her head._

_“Commitment. Love.”_

_It takes two. Two to make love. Two to make war. Lothbrok and Lowe appear to have done and made both. Maybe they’ve found a way to exist in the middle._

_She’s still twirling the ring on her left hand. Lothbrok put a ring on it. He also put something else in it. They’re expecting a baby._

_[www.vogue.com](http://www.vogue.com) _

.

.

.

“Are you ready?” Ragnar asks her as they pull up to the theatre. The first year, they had come with their friends as beards. The second year, they had come with other people. This year, they come together. And it’s only them.

All three magazine stories dropped two days before, leaving Helga and Torstein to field calls. But their agents have left them largely insulated.

“As ready as I can be,” Lagertha says, smoothing her dress. Last week when she did her final fitting it was perfect. But tonight…not so much. While its loose on bottom, her breasts have decided to grow an additional size, making them appear much larger in the fabric.  Still, Ragnar has insisted she looks good, and she did note before leaving his condo, that while the gown is loose, her belly is still very much evident. He’s dressed in a tailored black three-piece suit. He climbs out the car first, reaching in to help Lagertha out. They start walking, and flashbulbs start popping.

“Ragnar! Lagertha! What are you wearing?” The microphones are thrust upon them, and she smiles, one hand on Ragnar’s chest, his arm wrapped around her waist.

“He’s in Manudos and I’m wearing Diane Von Furstenberg.”

“Can you describe how the year has been for you?”

“Amazing.”

“Is it official? When is the wedding?”

“When are you due?”

“Congratulations!”

“Yes. Next year in the winter, and thank you!”

They wave to the gaggle and make their way to the photo station where they stop, and pose. Ragnar pulls her close and kisses her, and she smiles at him as he rubs her stomach.  “I can’t wait to get you out of that dress,” he whipsers, his mouth tickling her ear. She flushes, and turns her head a bit, a tiny smile on her lips. By the time they make it inside the theatre, Siggy and Athelstan are already there and they go hug their friends.

This year, Ecbert wins best director. And they all win best show. No shut outs.

There are three mandatory parties this year, and at each, Ragnar gets increasingly impatient. “Can we go now?” He keeps asking.

They manage to make it to all three in under two hours and by the time they’re approaching his condo her dress is to her waist and his face is between her legs. Never has she been so happy for privacy walls.

She already knows what she’s in for before the door to the condo even closes.

“Ragnar, this dress is a rental!” She gasps as he tears it straight down the back.

“Then I guess I just bought it,” he breathes, backing her into the wall, his mouth on her breasts now.

“I want to fuck…” It comes out as a groan, and when she reaches down she can feel him straining against his pants. She quickly unzips them and he kicks off his shoes, letting the pants fall as Lagertha takes off his shirt. He’s naked and so is she.

There’s a front patio, and a back one. Ragnar looks at his future wife a moment…and the idea comes to him.

“Come on.” He grabs her hand, heading to the back patio. The glass slides open and they step outside into open air.

Oh shit.

“…we could get arrested for indecent exposure.”

He doesn’t give two shits as he closes the door, picks her up and places her back against the glass. Lagertha’s legs wrap around is waist.

“I want to make you see stars,” he says moving into position between her thighs and pushing up, and in.

All she can do is hold on for the ride.

There are walls between his patio and his neighbors. But there’s nothing in front of them. At least they’re on the third floor.

And when she does come, she looks up at the sky and it’s blanketed with stars. It’s beautiful, and when she looks into the face of her fiancé, his eyes closed, mouth slightly parted, she knows this is exactly where she wants to be. And who she wants to be with.  Forever.


	51. Year 3: October

**October**

 “Raki! Lagertha! You’re here!”

Nancy comes bounding out of the house, followed by Roth and Jason and their sons. The little boys run up to them and wrap themselves around Ragnar and Lagertha’s legs. The brothers come up for hugs.

“Hey you two! You made it!”

They grin. Ragnar takes Lagertha’s hand and walks them up to the stairs where Nancy’s waiting with open arms.

“Come on in, Lagertha—Jen and Kate are here, and John is camped out in the living room as usual,” she says.

She enters and sure enough, Roth and Jason’s wives are perched on the couch. They get up and come over to her, wrapping her into a hug.

“Hi sister,” Jen says. “Welcome to the fold.” Lagertha laughs. “Not quite there yet.” Kate chuckles. “Please. You’re with Ragnar. I think that’s enough said.”

Jen is tall and slender, dirty blonde hair and long limbs—she reminds Lagertha of Aslaug actually. Kate is shorter, curvier, a brunette with wide-set brown eyes.

John comes straggling on over. “Still hanging in there, I see. Glad to see Ragnar didn’t run you off.” He’s got on the sly smirk the family all shares. Lagertha grins. “Still here.”

Last to come in is Leif. “Hey there, gorgeous,” he says coming in for a hug as well, this time remembering to leave his shoes at the door.

Ragnar comes in last with his brothers, carrying their bags.

Soon, the horde is settled on the front patio, beers in hand.

“So, when do we get to meet our grandson?” Nancy asks.  Ragnar smiles. “We’re working on that. I’m trying to get Aslaug to let me bring him for Christmas.”

“On speaking terms with your ex-wife?” John looks at him, surprised.

“Yeah. Ivar is amazing, full of energy. He talks a lot.”

“Tell us about him,” his father asks, leaning back in his chair, eyes closed.

So Ragnar does. His eyes are bright, and he’s speaking with his hands, fully animated. Lagertha smiles. If ever there was a man in love, and Ragnar is very much in love with his son.  

The family hangs on every word. They can’t wait to meet the littlest Lothbrok.

.

.

 “So, what’s the holdup son?”

The men are drinking beers on the back deck, and Ragnar’s father has his feet propped up on an empty chair. Roth, Jason and Ragnar are sitting around him in a circle, the boys running between them, chasing each other. Ragnar reaches out and grabs Matthew, pulling his nephew close.

“Uncle Ragnar is messing with me!” He shouts as his brother and cousin laugh.

Ragnar ruffles his hair affectionately and cuffs him on the head before releasing him. The boys continue on. Roth and Jason watch with amusement and John keeps talking.

“You’ve got your son. And Lord knows how, but you got your woman. When are you making this official?”

“We’re working on that,” he says. “But we haven’t really gotten there, yet. There’s been a lot going on.”

“So, again, what are you waiting on? You finally found someone who can tolerate your ass. You should have ran from the courtroom _to_ the clerk. You’re divorce was finalized three months ago.”

“I just wanted to make sure everything was settled before I did. No mistakes this time. No loose threads.”

“Well that’s good, at least. And am I getting a granddaughter? We need more girls around here. When does it arrive? I’m not getting any younger, and I’d like to be able to hold one of yours before I check out of this place.”

At that, Ragnar laughs.  “Well, you’ll have to wait a while longer, dad. Lagertha’s not due until February.”

“Well then she better be pregnant again by March.” John snickers, sipping on his beer. “That’s the fun part. None of your mothers ever complained about making ya’ll.”

All three brothers groan. “Seriously dad…” Jason says shaking his head, “that’s uncouth.”

The old man raises his eyebrows at them. “What? Just sayin’. Ragnar, work harder. You need to make up for lost time. You’re dragging, son. Need some pointers?”

“Dad!” All three sons yell at him in unison.

“What? We’re old, not dead. What the hell you think we’re doin’ when ya’ll aint here? Knitting?” John leans back and takes another swig of beer, happily eying his youngest. The one most like him.

Ragnar started off rough, but he’s turning out alright.

.

.

“So, do you know what you’re having yet?” Jen asks. Lagertha sits happily in the family room, surrounded by her future mother-in-law and soon-to-be sisters-in-law. She’s grateful for Ragnar’s large family. They’ve always made her feel welcome.

“When will he get here?” Nancy asks.

“February,” Lagertha tells her. “But we don’t know the sex yet.” A look passes between Nancy and Lagertha. It’s bittersweet.

“Well, I’m excited,” Nancy says. “I know John wants a girl, but…”

 At that, Kate and Jen laugh. “Boy!” They say at the same time.

Lagertha laughs too. The probability is definitely not in their favor.

.

.

They’re curled up in his old room, in his old bed. He presses against her.

“So did they give you the lecture too?” He asks.

She smiles. “Maybe.” His hands start roaming as he whispers in her ear.

“You know…I’ve always fantastized about having sex at my parents house.”

Lagertha laughs as he rolls them over, her on top, bouncing her on his lap. “Make my dreams come true?”

They kiss.

“I think that’s a little…excessive, love. _You_ are worse than a rabbit.”

He shakes his head, grinning. “Tell me you’re not turned on by the idea, though. ‘Cause I am.”

Clearly. He flips them back over and slides down her body, sticking his face between her legs. Lagertha tries to push him back, but he shakes her head, moving her panties to the side.

“Stop it!” She hisses, but by then it’s too late, because he’s got a finger inside and is already doing what he wants to do down there and she’s so mortified all she can do is grab a pillow and cover her face.

When he finally surfaces, she’s trembling and he’s grinning. Lagertha can’t look at him because when she does, it only makes her blush harder. He slides back up her body, preparing to remove her shirt, when there’s a knock at the door.

 “Dinner’s ready.” It’s Leif.

“You’re awful.” She whispers. “You love it,” he snickers, pulling her shirt back down. “I guess I can wait for dessert.”

At dinner, there are smirks all around. Ragnar just sits back drinking a beer while she tries to hide under her hair. Nancy watches them, one eyebrow raised and a smile on her face. Afterward, they’re curled up together again.

“Can I have dessert now?” He asks. She giggles.

**.**

.

More red carpets. This time, for her new movie. She sports a far larger tummy.

The questions again.

“When are you two getting married?”

“Boy or girl?”

They smile and nod, and float off.


	52. Year 3: November Part 1

**November**

It’s drawing closer to Thanksgiving. Ragnar and Aslaug have been busy negotiating.

“I want to take Ivar to meet his grandparents,” he tells her over the phone.

“I don’t know…” Aslaug’s unsure. His first instinct is to lash out at her, but he tamps down on it, knowing she’s still trying to adjust to relinquishing some control. “It’s only for a few days. It would mean a lot to me…my family…Lagertha.”

“Why Lagertha?” Suspicion. He can hear it in her voice, and he decides to just tell Aslaug the truth.

“We’re…getting married,” Ragnar says quietly, hearing her quick intake of breath. “I want my family there…I want my son there.”

He gets the dial tone in response.

“What happened?” Lagertha is on the couch, leafing through a magazine from a baby store. She’s circling items.

“She hung up on me,” Ragnar tells her. At that, she looks up. “Give her a few days. Don’t take it personally.”

“I can’t help but take it personally. She’s seriously going to try and deny me, again?” He’s getting pissed. She sees the explosion coming and Lagertha gets up and goes to him.

“She’s not going to deny you anything. But…,” she bites her lip, considering her next few words carefully. She’s never forgotten the words the two of them exchanged that day at La Brea. And Lagertha knows exactly how she would feel if someone she’s loved told her he was about to marry someone else. Even though Ragnar didn’t love Aslaug, Aslaug did love him.

“Just…give her a moment.”

So he waits a few days before calling back.

“Can we at least rotate holidays? You get Ivar for Christmas. I know it’s a big deal for you guys. Just let me have Thanksgiving?”

Aslaug is resigned on the other end, but she agrees. “Just, please…Ragnar…Ivar only has one mom, okay?”

It matters. He would never do her as she did him. “ _You_ are Ivar’s mother,” he says reassuringly. “Thank you for trying. It’s weird for both of us.”

Convincing Caroline however…is far more difficult.

“Iowa?” Lagertha knows exactly the facial expression her mothe is making without even seeing her through the phone. “What’s so urgent?”

“You _need_ to meet his parents.” She presses until reluctantly, Caroline agrees to come.

It much easier getting Siggy, Athelstan, Floki, Bjorn and Rollo to come along, and they’ll be arriving in the next few days.

.

.

Right now, its just Ragnar, Lagertha and Ivar.

And the little boy is staring around him at all the people with wide eyes. He’s hiding behind his daddy’s legs.

“Come on, Ivar, these are your uncles and aunties, grandparents and cousins,” Ragnar says, bending down to get at eye level with his young son.

“Can you say ‘hello?’”

“Hello.” It comes out soft. Ivar’s not convinced. Nancy shooes her sons and their wives and kids away so that it’s just her and John.

 They take a seat. Ivar peeks at them from over Ragnar’s shoulder.

“Hey boy,” John says with a warm smile, reaching out. Ragnar takes Ivar’s hand and walks him over. Lagertha watches it all from a corner, a soft smile on her face.

Her fiancé is a good father. Warm and caring. Patient and attentive to his son. And she knows he’ll be the same for their baby as well.

It’s all he’s ever wanted. He told her this. To be a good father.

She rubs her belly and goes off into the kitchen with the rest of the family. Introductions go slow…one person at a time, until Ivar is laughing and playing with everyone. It’s clear who the new golden child is. John and Nancy are absolutely taken with their grandson. And Ragnar’s brothers and their wives are too.

.

_._

The house has filled up fast. Last to arrive is Caroline, and when she arrives, it’s with a flurry of curses.

It was Roth who picked her up from the airport and as soon as he gets back inside, he goes straight to his brother.

“Okay. I now understand completely,” he grumbles as Ragnar cracks up. “She looks exactly like Lagertha  though, right?”

“Yeah…but she’s definitely NOT her daughter,” Roth retorts. “I thought she was going to stab me with those damn heels of hers!”

“Nah. _Shoot_ you, though… yes. That’s her thing.”

Caroline hugs her daughter and Lagertha makes introductions, starting with John and Nancy.

“Pleased to meet you,” Ragnar’s mom says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” She winks. “Especially from my son. Good job getting him in line.”

Caroline laughs, disarmed.

“We’re strong women, around here,” she says.

“Amen to that.” Nancy replies.

A few hours go by, and the house is loud and lively. Packed.

Siggy, Athelstan, Rollo, Bjorn, Floki, Roth and Jason, their wives, their kids, Ivar, John, Nancy, Caroline, Ragnar and Lagertha.

18 people.

19 coming soon…

They’re stuffed from dinner, and all gathered in the living room.

“Should we do it now?” Lagertha wispers to Ragnar. “Or do you want to wait a little longer?”

This time, he’s been able to keep the secret. She’s snuggled between his legs, and his hands are resting on her stomach. Ivar is tucked into his side. These are the two people he loves most in the world, surrounded by the ones that are the closest. It’s all family here.

“Let’s spring it on them now,” he says.

But as she shifts a bit, the doors to the house open again, and Leif strolls in.

“Leif!” Where’ve you been all day?” Jason calls to him.

“Had to go to town to handle a few things,” he says taking off his shoes by the door.  But when Leif turns back around and takes survey of the room, and everyone in there, he pauses, and his face drains of color.

 The brothers notice.

“Hey, you alright, man?” Roth gets up and goes over to him, but Leif is shaking his head, staring at one person in particular. Ragnar sees the look, and follows Leif’s eyes to...Caroline.

Who has an identical expression on her face.

He nudges Lagertha and she looks between her mother and Leif too…puzzled.

The entire family falls silent.

“Addy?” Leif says. “Is…that you?”

“ _Harbard_?” Caroline whispers.

It’s so quiet they can all hear the wind wisp outside.

Leif comes closer.

“Leif…you’re name’s not…Leif?” Ragnar asks, equally as confused as everyone else in the moment.

“Mom? How do _you_ know Leif?” Lagertha asks.

Her mother looks at her a long moment, and for the first time, Lagertha sees something completely unexpected in her eyes…tears…and emotions completely raw across Caroline’s beautiful face. She looks incredibly vulernable in the moment. And when she speaks again, it’s barely above a whisper.

 “Aga…he’s your father.”

.

.

 “Are you okay, dove?” They’re in bed, and it’s late. Ragnar has his arm around her, holding her close as she tries to process this strange turn of events. “I am,” she tells him honestly.

It makes so much sense, now. Why Leif had stared at her so long when they first met. Why he’d inquired about where she lived and how long the second time she came to the farm.

“But I’m worried about Caroline. I’ve never seen her…like that.”

They fall asleep.

But down the hall, Caroline is wide awake. And she’s got a guest in her room.

“I don’t know whether to slap you, hug you, scream at you or cry in joy.” Harbard is sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Why did you leave us?”

He looks down in shame.

“Because you two were perfect. And I wasn’t. And I knew you and Aga deserved better than me.”

“Why would you think that? You left us to struggle alone. I had to raise her by myself.”

“And you did a beautiful job, Addy. Look at her. She’s perfect.”

“She needed you. We needed you. How long have you been here?”

“I got here about two years after I left. I’ve been working here, with the Lothbrok’s ever since,” he tells her.

“Did you know Lagertha? When you first saw her?”

He nods. “Yes, I knew. She looks exactly like her mother.”

Caroline shakes her head. “I can’t believe this is real.”

Harbard/Leif reaches out for her, and she pulls away from him.

“Addy, please…”

She looks at him, her face wet with tears as he talks. “Can I try again?”

“It’s been more than 30 years.”

“But that’s not ‘no’,” he says. And when he reaches for her again, their lips meet, in a long, slow kiss.

Because he’s the only man Caroline has ever loved.


	53. Year 3: November Part 2

**November Part 2**

 “Walk with me,” Ragnar says, taking Lagertha’s hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To talk to Sigurd.”

They’ve been on the farm four days, and the events of the past two have been…overwhelming, to say the least. Lagertha nods. They haven’t had the time to come here yet, and now feels right.

“Should we bring Ivar?”

Ragnar thinks about it. “Yeah. I’ll go get him.” He goes to find his son.

“Hey kiddo. I want you to come with me for a minute, okay?”

“Ivar nods and Ragnar picks up him, carrying him back out into the living room. Lagertha’s waiting on the patio and they climb on to an ATV, Lagertha’s arms wrapped around Ragnar’s waist, his son secured on his lap. They ride out into the backfield to the little family plot.

“What’s this, daddy?” Ivar says, seeing the little plaques all around.

“This is where we come to talk to people we love who aren’t here anymore,” he says settling them down in front of one spot in particular.

Ragnar points at it.

“See the name? It says Sigurd Lothbrok. Like your name.”

Ivar giggles.

“And yours too!”

“And mine too.”

Lagertha sits next to them as Ragnar cuddles his son tightly.

“That’s your brother,” he says with tears in his eyes. She reaches for his hand.

“You never got to meet him, but Auntie Lagertha and I loved him just as much as we love you. And so, we come here to talk to him sometimes.”

Ivar blinks, his little hands going to either side of Ragnar’s face.

“Don’t cry daddy. I love you.”

“I love you too, little guy. We love you too. How would you feel about being a big brother?”

Ivar smiles wide.

“Do I get to play with him?”

Lagertha laughs. “You will, eventually, when he gets here. Would that be okay with you?”

Ivar nods earnestly. “I’ll take care of him, I promise.”

Ragnar chuckles. “I’m glad.” He releases Ivar from his embrace. “Stay where we can see you. Auntie Lagertha and I need to talk a minute, okay?”

“Okay!” Ivar climbs off his dad and starts wandering around.

She lays her head on Ragnar’s shoulder, their hands still entwined. He talks first, looking down at the plaque.

 “Hi son,” Ragnar starts. “I’d like for you to meet your big brother one day. I think you’d like Ivar. I think the two of you would get along. You’re mother and I are getting married today,” he starts to choke up and Lagertha laces her fingers through his, taking over for him.

“We made you a promise, Sigurd. To be better parents. We will be, my baby boy. We miss you. Every single day.” She feels the hot tears behind her eyes. It’s bittersweet. “You’re going to be a big brother, too,” she tells him. “And we will never stop loving you, or missing you.”

Because Nancy was correct. The pain never goes away. But it has gotten far easier. And now that the bad things have faded, they’re left with loving memories.

Ragnar’s hand comes to her belly.

“Are you ready, dove?”

She smiles at him. “I was ready three years ago.”

.

.

Nancy and John lean against each other. Roth has an arm around Jen and Jason has one around Kate. Leif has an arm around Caroline’s waist. Rollo stands next to Ragnar, and Siggy stands with Lagertha.

Athelstan, Bjorn and Floki look on.

Ivar stands in front of his father.

And when the officiant pronounces them husband and wife, Ragnar pulls Lagertha close and kisses her long and deep to the whoops and hollers of their friends and family.

He’s got on jeans and a collered shirt with flip flops.  She’s wearing a floral dress.

They never wanted anything fancy for their wedding. What they have is enough. They have friends. And they have family. They ARE family.

.

.

“Think we should tell them now?” Ragnar wraps an arm around his wife’s waist, pulling her close. She can smell the whiskey on his breath, and laughs.

There’s a large bonfire going, and the family is outside, braving the cold. But the fire is bright enough and big enough to warm them all. Roth has brought out a wireless speaker and Lagertha’s iphone is presently attached to it. The music plays. __  
  


Caroline and Leif sway together… Athelstan and Siggy sway too. And so do John and Nancy. The rest of the family is close to the fire. The kids, partied out, are dozing in the laps of their parents. Ivar is asleep on Lagertha’s lap.

The sky is dark, blanketed by stars.

Ragnar taps two beer bottles together, drawing everyone’s attention.

“So, we just want to say that we’re really glad everyone made the trip. And, you guys can go home now.” He jokes to a round of laughter.

Roth throws a beer cap at him and he ducks.

“But No seriously. This has been a really… _eventful_ week,” Ragnar says, eyeing Caroline and Leif who smile at one another. “And before folks start leaving in the morning, we wanted to make an announcement…”

“You’re beating around the bush,” Lagertha says, poking Ragnar on the side and taking over.

“Okay, okay! Well, I know everyone has been wondering who the newest member of our family will be, and I’m sure everyone will be shocked to know…” It’s so dramatic. Lagertha laughs and cuts him off.

“We’re having a girl.”

At that, Nancy, Caroline and Siggy start to cry. And all the guys start grinning.

“Thank you, Jesus” John grumbles, but he’s wearing a smile and he comes over to hug is youngest son. “Someone finally decided to drop a woman around here.”  

“Do you two have a name picked out yet?” Nancy says with a grin, her eyes misty.  “She’ll be the first in three generations.”

All Lothbrok’s have are boys.

“We’ve decided on Gyda,” Ragnar says. Caroline gasps, looking at her daughter. Gyda is her middle name. “What else?” She asks.

“Gyda Arabelle.” Ragnar says. At that one, even Nancy lets one fall. Arabelle is her middle name.

**\--END--**


End file.
